


Serpents and Shadows

by WKitsune



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: F/F, I guess slow burn, Minor Fantastic Racism, Non-Graphic Violence, Not a whole lot of plan here, The PDF are here too, The drukhari are here now gross stuff is gonna happen, idk how to tag, probably some other stuff, some blood, some body horror, we'll see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WKitsune/pseuds/WKitsune
Summary: Sister Nochtli is surrounded by traitors, cut off the rest of her Order, and trapped on an impossibly silent world. If she is to stop whatever scheme is at work on Alken III, let alone survive, she will need all the luck, faith, skill, and support she can muster. The last, though, might not come in the form she expected...
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 23
Kudos: 43





	1. Escape and Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all to anyone reading this:  
> This is my first fan-fiction posted anywhere, and in fact my first "published" piece of writing anywhere. There wasn't any greater purpose to this being the one, I was just writing this in-between other projects over the course of a week and decided that hey, why not: Get myself out there, and all that. Anyway, there's not much to this, just some general 40k action with some (eventual) yuri thrown in, because why not. I wouldn't expect great things from this. Here goes, and Enjoy!

Run. Shoot. Kill. Find cover. Reload. Run again. Try to stay alive.

This was the sum total of what Sister Nochtli’s life had become. Battle was different-it was expected, a natural fact of life in times such as these. Battle was an act of devotion to the Emperor, an expression of duty and piety. This was not battle. This was merely waiting for death to come and claim her.

Existence was the scant few yards around her, and the threats that filled it. Thought was the knowledge required to eliminate those threats, and locate the next. Her orders were-Nochtli didn’t remember what her last orders were. The chain of command was gone. The cannoness, the preachers, even the sisters superior, were all outside of her yards-wide world. Therefore, they did not exist. Vox-beads had long since become useless. Safety was...well, safety wasn’t an option anymore.

Nochtli didn’t mind death. Death was also expected. The cannoness had always said that the value of their lives was measured only in how well it could be offered to the Emperor. Nochtli accepted this. She was a warrior: warriors fought and died. This too was natural. But, she was swiftly discovering that she would rather find a worthy reason to go and meet Him on the Throne than be annihilated in useless slaughter. 

It was also increasingly evident that she would not get a say in the matter.

Another wall was blasted to ruin by a hail of autocannon fire. Nochtli had learned to start moving the instant she heard the rattling booms getting closer. She frowned. Nochtli had grown fond of that wall. It had lasted almost ten seconds.  
She saw movement. She fired. She kept on running. Nochtli didn’t really register that she had made these motions. It was beyond reflex. There was survival, or death. There was no room for thought, or planning. 

It was not supposed to be like this. This knowledge fueled Nochtli, kept the flames of righteous anger burning just a little bit longer. She had to survive, if only so she could make those who had broken them pay.

It had all started when their transport, Chariot of Casta, had intercepted an astropathic distress call. The message had requested immediate assistance in dealing with an attack by Aeldari raiders. By luck, the Chariot had been only a system away, transporting supplies and relics from another convent. It took only brief discussion for the canonness to declare they would respond. Thus had the Order of the Twilight Serpent deployed to the world of Alken III.

Arrival in orbit did not provide clarity. Alken III was not an important world, as far as the greater Imperium was concerned: shrine world, moderate tithe levels, no notable exports in terms of resources or materiel. Even so, the sight that greeted the battle sisters was puzzling. Orbital activity was almost nil. Even a world such as this should have seen an almost constant stream of transports going to and from, just to ensure the survival of its populace, and yet space was empty for thousands of miles around. At first, the sisters assumed they were too late. The Warp was a fickle thing, unbound from human understanding of time, and the linear nature thereof. It was hardly notable for Imperial fleets to come to the rescue of worlds decades too late. But initial augur scans did not reveal a world devastated by war. The positioning lights of defense platforms hung silently in orbit. All the major fortress-cities appeared entirely intact. Indeed, there seemed to be nothing wrong with Alken III at all. 

Except for the silence.

It wasn’t just the lack of ships. Almost no signals, astropathic or otherwise, could be picked up coming off of the planet. It was if the entire world, billions of souls strong, had just...stopped. This was more than enough reason to assume that despite all appearances, something was deeply wrong.

A full three-quarters of the force aboard the Chariot immediately deployed to the surface in full combat readiness. There were to be no chances taken. Either the world had somehow been subverted or destroyed by xenos influence, or it was impossibly derelict in its duties to the Emperor. Either way, there would be a reckoning. 

The initial landing was uncontested. The assault craft crashed to ground in the middle of a vast processional plaza, spilling out their complements of Battle Sisters at full tilt. All ten squads, a mixture of standard battle sisters and their more heavily armed or specialized counterparts, came out of the landers with guns primed, ready for battle. But they were met only with more silence. The plaza was totally empty, populated by gim-faced statues of Imperial saints and martyrs. Even the cherubim that should have been floating through the air, blasting devotional messages and calling the populace to prayer, were absent. A few of the particularly zealous sisters bristled at this flagrant disregard for the protocols of faith. The plaza was meant to hold the tremendous throngs of people that would go to and from the primary temple cluster every day. Over a hundred Battle Sisters in full power armor, and the ships that carried them, could not fill the smallest corner.

They began to fan out, ever vigilant. By the cannoness’s order, they were to secure the temple cluster before proceeding. Information would be needed, and the databanks in the temples would be the closest source.

The shooting started the second the last sister was clear of the landers. The ships were torn apart in a hail of shells. Three explosions later, and the sisters were trapped. Training kicked in instantly: battle cries rose up, the sisters spread out into cover, weapons already tracking for targets. There was no shortage. They were surrounded. Weapon flashes lit up every window, arch, and balcony of the massive buildings that lined the plaza. Autocannon shells, heavy bolter rounds, lascannon beams, and more rained down on the plaza without break or respite. Many sisters were killed instantly. Return fire silenced some of the attackers, but nothing seemed to make a dent.

The enemy appeared in person shortly thereafter. Dozens upon dozens of figures in grey-brown flak armor poured out of the buildings, lasguns filling the plaza with deadly red light, with far more behind.

A wave of horror and disgust washed over the Sisters. They had been attacked by the Planetary Defense Force of Alken III, betrayed by the very people who were supposed to be the planet’s first line of defense. At least this hardened their resolve. It was the Adepta Sororitas’s greatest prerogative to annihilate traitors to the Emperor wherever they might be. They would destroy their attackers with great relish.

Or at least, they would try. A single Battle Sister was far superior to any normal Imperial trooper in arms, armor, training, and zeal. In open battle, they could crush forces many times their number with ease. But this was not open battle. They had been ambushed, cut off, and surrounded. They faced a foe entrenched in prepared positions, and did so with far too few heavy weapons of their own, and no support of any kind. Alongside the swarms of infantry strode armored walkers, and behind those rumbled heavy tanks, spitting death from enormous turrets. 

Instantly, the primary goal of the Sisters switched from victory to survival, and even that did not seem tremendously likely.

Any semblance of order vanished quickly. The initial cover that the sisters had found, largely pillars, statues, and street barricades, was rendered untenable in short order. They were forced to split up, first into squads, and then into individuals, or else be penned in and inevitably torn apart. The fighting devolved into pockets, where small groups of sisters struggled desperately to rally, escape, or just live a little bit longer. Officers and imagifiers called on the sisters to honor and trust the Emperor, but their voices and wills could only reach so far. Mostly, they held sway over no more than a handful of warriors apiece.

Oh, but they inflicted a terrible price upon the PDF. The wars waged by the Adepta Sororitas were defined by a holy trinity of weapons: bolter, flamer, and melta. Combined with the superlative skill of a Battle Sister, these proved more than capable of cutting down infantry and tanks alike in prodigious numbers. But it wasn’t enough. There were only so many sisters, and no matter how effective or brave they were, they could only do so much to the veritable army that bore down upon them. Battle Sisters were known for stubborn zealotry in battle, but even they knew when they were doomed.

Eventually, Cannoness Centehua had called upon every SIster who could hear her to follow her in a desperate breakout. At great cost, this action saw about thirty sisters burst out of the plaza into the wide streets and a running battle for escape.  
That had been...some time ago. Nochtli wasn’t sure how long. Slowly but surely, that group had been whittled down and split apart until the situation was little different than it had been before. Nochtli had last seen the Cannoness a few minutes ago, weaving between the stomping legs of a pair of walkers, hacking at motors and exposed power lines with her power sword. She had shouted at the few remaining sisters to keep moving. They had complied, and left Cannoness Centehua, heroine of a dozen worlds, to her fate. Soon, Nochtli had lost sight of those last companions, too. By then, she did not need to be ordered to stay mobile.

She was presently trapped in a smaller building. Once, it must have been some form of Administratum counting house. That which remained told a story of endless rows of cramped cubicles, towering piles of ancient vellum, and wall-spanning cogitator banks. Very little of that remained, though. Most had not weathered the ongoing battle, reduced to rubble by shell and beam. Yet again, no one had been inside, its halls as empty as every other building the sisters had gone through. Nochtli could devote only a shred of awareness to this fact. The soldiers were still coming.

Another squad of the PDF troopers, ten strong, burst into the long room. They saw Nochtli instantly. The sergeant pointed at her, and the troops moved into position wordlessly. This was what disturbed Nochtli the most: Over the course of the entire battle, she had yet to hear any of the PDF troopers make a single sound. Not an order, not a battle cry. Not even a scream.

They certainly still knew how to fire their weapons, though. Lasgun beams cut across the counting-room, the intense energy easily piercing through the flimsy cubicle walls and casting scraps of vellum into the air. As deadly as lasguns were to flesh, they posed little immediate threat to a Battle Sister’s power armor. The plated ceramite was proof against far worse. The PDF troopers clearly knew this, for they spread out as they fired, aiming only to pin Nochtli down. This she could not allow. As the beams added more scorch marks to her armor, she raised one of her bolt pistols, and fired. The mass-reactive shell swiftly solved one of her problems. The rest of the squad pressed on without even reacting. The Alken III PDF had shown shocking bravery for such a lowly organization. If only they had used that bravery for the Emperor. 

Nochtli never stopped moving away. She could only hope that getting deeper into the building would shield her from the heavy weapons outside. 

The troopers redoubled their efforts to surround the Battle Sister, sending ever more las-bolts sizzling around her. As bolt pistol rounds dropped two more troopers, Nochtli had to wonder what their plan was. Were they really just trying to pin her down, and wear her armor down with a barrage of fire? The tactics of the Imperial armies were often based on blunt, brutal use of its soldiers, but this seemed...particularly inefficient. Perhaps they were simply waiting for her to tire.

This was not unreasonable, much as it shamed her to admit it. She had been fighting non-stop for a long time now, and Nochlti was yet unaugmented. In other times, she would have boasted of the purity of her being, but presently it meant that she was beginning to feel her muscles burn. Worse yet, she was entirely unused to fighting in such tight confines as the narrow rows of cubicles. She was a seraphim, one of the Adepta Sororitas’s airborne assault troops. Normally, the large jump-pack, shaped like angelic wings, mounted on her back would have carried her high over the battlefield, raining death upon their foes wherever it was needed. Now, it just bumped against every corner and wall, forcing her to move slowly and awkwardly as she tried to evade her pursuers. She refused to give up the blessed wargear, though.

Then, with a quiet oath to the Emperor, she realized what the troopers were trying to do. They were buying time for one of their fellows to get into a firing position. 

They had a plasma gun.

Nochtli dropped as low as she could just as a ball of energy, bright and furious as a star, roared by overhead. Nothing in the room could stop it: not the cubicles, not the stacks of vellum, nor anything else. It cut a neat path through the counting room, reducing who knew how many decades or centuries of work to atoms, before finally boring a good few inches into the solid stone wall at the far side. Only then did the plasma ball fizzle out of existence. 

Nochtli spun her head to find the gunner. The energy coils atop the gun were still glowing blue with power, but the trooper was already tracking her for another shot. She ran.

Her helmet’s sensors chirped a warning of an incoming threat at her side. Instincts earned from years of harsh training responded, lashing out one arm to knock over a stack of loose papers to make an impromptu smokescreen. But the man rushing her with a bayonet didn’t stumble. He didn’t even flinch as papers fell over his face. Nochtli was almost impressed, but up close she saw that the man’s eyes were somehow foggy, unresponsive to all the stimulus. This bravery could not be natural, after all.

The trooper thrust the bayonet up in a large, overly-telegraphed motion. It was simple to knock his weapon away with one hand, and blast his torso out with the other. But that took precious seconds. By the time she had recovered the plasma gunner had already fired again. Nochtli twisted. She was too late. The ball of plasma seared her vision as it ripped through the air no more than a few inches away. The heat fried her helmet’s sensors instantly, and the resulting burst of static and failing alarms overwhelmed Nochtli’s senses. In one motion, she ripped her helmet off hard enough to tear the neck seals apart, and threw it to the ground. She emptied one of her pistol’s clips in the vague direction of the plasma gunner. Without the helmet to filter sound, the percussive cracks of her pistol, and the roar of the rocket-propelled slugs, only made the assault on her senses worse. The flash of plasma-light still stung her retinas. She ran in what she could only hope was the direction of an exit. 

Vision cleared just in time for her to see a heavy metal door set into the rapidly-approaching wall. This, at last, provided some hope to the Battle Sister. The door had a big, solid bar across it that would have held it tightly in place, had it not been swinging open, hinges shattered. Such security was not a common sight in administrative buildings such as this. This door had to lead somewhere important. Somewhere safe, Emperor willing. Nochtli broke into a dead sprint.

Chased by las-bolts and one last burst of plasma, Nochtli all but dove through the doorway. She pulled the trigger of her other pistol as hard as she could, emptying it into the counting room as well. Only once the booms died down did she realize she had been screaming wordlessly. With a push, the door slammed closed, hard enough to bounce back on its broken hinges. This would have to be enough of a deterrent. Now all Nochtli needed to do was figure out where she was, and where she was going. Up. She needed to go up, and get to whatever was left of the roof. Then she could finally deploy her jump pack once more and go...somewhere. That could be determined later. What was clear was that she could not die yet. She had not killed nearly enough of these traitors.

Once again, Nochtli had gotten lucky. The door had indeed led somewhere important: a short hallway which led to a large service elevator. A number of carts, abandoned haphazardly against the walls and steeped in old datapads, suggested that this was where records and other such information was brought and carried to some destination, likely storage. Nochtli risked a smile. That elevator would run the height of the counting house. The flickering lumens that lined the walls seemed to light a path to the elevator shaft, as if confirming Nochtli’s idea. Of course, this all assumed that the elevator car did not block the path upwards, but Nochtli had faith. That she had gotten this far must be a sign. She said another prayer. She could not be too safe.

Footsteps approached from the other side of the door. The troopers were still coming, and a half-open door would do nothing to meaningfully delay them. Nochtli was officially out of options. She ran for the elevator shaft, diving in just as lasbolts lit up the air once more. For a brief moment, a deep, cavernous darkness surrounded her. Metallic echoes boomed throughout the massive elevator shaft, the ghosts of impacts against the rest of the building. For that moment, Sister Nochtli just fell into the endless abyss. 

Then, she pressed a rune in her gauntlet as hard as she could, and she flew. Long jets of flame roared out from the jump pack, propelling the seraphim upwards with tremendous force. The air within the elevator shaft, stale with age, slammed into her like a wall. The pressure made Nochtli’s eyes water, but she endured. It was preferable to the alternative. 

Suddenly, the shaft above her opened up, and light spilled in from a gaping hole in the side. Nochtli twisted herself expertly, angling her flight into and through the hole. She cut thrust and dropped to a rest in the ruins of a hallway. The wall had been blown out in a series of erratic chunks, scattering stone across the floor and exposing the area to a rough breeze from outside. Evidently, some of whatever ordinance had caused this had gotten inside, for the hole that Nochtli had flown through, once the actual elevator door, had been widened far past its intended limits. A flicker of confusion passed through her mind as to why this building had been targeted at all, but this was swiftly banished. Nochtli’s lips curled. Further down the hallway, two bodies in power armor lay in twisted heaps. Blood covered the walls and floors around them. Nochtli could barely identify the pair as being seraphim from Sister Superior Izel’s squad. They had known each other from the Schola Progenium. Nochtli spared no time for grief. The best memorial she could give the two was to bring vengeance to their killers. She leapt out one of the rents in the wall, and jetted up to the roof.

At last, Nochtli stood atop the counting house, and the sprawl of the fortress-city spread out around her. This perch was nowhere near tall enough for her to have anything close to a full view of the city, but it was enough for her purposes. Nochtli was surrounded by destruction. The counting house alone had lost almost a quarter of its original structure, leaving the roof little more than a crumbling, v-shaped platform. It was lucky. Many of the other buildings had been reduced-were still being reduced-to piles of rubble by a never ending bombardment from heavy weapons and tanks. The noise, the percussive rumbles, had gone well past anything identifiable as distinct sound. It was an attack all its own, a wave of pressure that rattled Nochtli, and the very stone beneath her, to her core. Fires large and small burned everywhere. Alken III was no industrial center, and so was relatively less polluted than many other Imperial worlds, but that was hard to tell now. The smoke had rendered the sky as far as Nochtli could see into a black dome. It had been midday when they had landed. 

Walkers stomped through what passed for streets, with more troopers scuttling by underneath. Every so often, a walker would pause, and unleash a burst of autocannon shells or gout of promethium flame at some unseen target. Lasbeams flickered. From up high, these figures and vehicles looked like little more than a child’s playthings, the weapons fire pinpricks of light, but Nochtli was all too aware what these actions truly represented. The PDF did not appear to be in any danger. Nochtli could see no signs of other battle sisters, nor any return fire against the PDF. Yet tanks obliterated barricades, walls and arches alike at the slightest offense. It was if they would not rest until every potential hiding place was dust.

The training of the Adepta Sororitas was not kind, and ensured that Battle Sisters were hardened against the worst terrors the galaxy had to offer, but this sight still turned Nochtli’s stomach. This was not a battle, not even an ambush. This was extermination.

Nochtli looked across the killing field, and soon found the plaza where all this had begun. It was close. Far too close. The seraphim’s fists tightened in pure, white-hot anger. The Order of the Twilight Serpent, for all its bravery, faith, and skill, hadn’t even managed to make it five miles. A great, thundering noise came from the heavens. Nochtli looked up just in time to see the vast bulk of the Chariot of Casta tumble down from the sky in a ball of flame, like an apocalyptic comet. It fell behind the horizon. Seconds later, a blinding flash lit up the sky.

It took a few, deep breaths for Nochtli to compose herself. Faith told her that some of her sisters yet remained, that the cannonness or one of the sisters superior still led a pocket of resistance somewhere out there. Reason told her she may well be the last Battle Sister alive on Alken III. Either way, her mission remained unchanged. Whether alone, or with an army at her back, she would find some way to punish the PDF for this unthinkable treachery. She didn’t care if they had truly been subverted by xenos influence, if the Great Enemy was at work here, or if they were simply weak in spirit and conviction. Their fate would be the same.

Nochtli struggled to remember the cursory briefing they had received back of the Chariot. Her memory for such things had never been the best, and that briefing now felt like it was a long, long time ago. Still, she managed to dredge up a few details. Alken III was an unkind world, dominated by sprawling wastelands filled with hordes of deadly beasts that the Administratum had long since given up on trying to cull. Instead, The planet’s population lived within a number of towering fortress-cities, bastions of tall walls covered in defense batteries. The only real reason the Imperium cared about Alken III was that, due to a variety of historical and navigational quirks, the world had once served as a major waypoint for religious pilgrimages. This had been over three millennia ago, and certainly before the Rift, but Alken III had accumulated a great deal of holy relics over the eons, both common and saintly. Each of the fortress-cities housed at its core one of the most precious of these relics, and whole swathes of the planet’s bureaucracy was dedicated to the proper veneration and preservation of these relics. What token levels of material production the world boasted was entirely secondary to this purpose. Supposedly, the Imperial Guard regiments tithed from Alken III were known for their brazen zealotry.

This was all well and good, but it didn’t exactly help Nochtli figure out what her next move should be. Her first thought was the protection of this city’s relics. If the PDF was truly subverted, then they could not very well be trusted with the safekeeping of such important items. Indeed, the longer relics sat unrescued, the deeper the PDF’s heresy would stain them. Yes, Nochtli told herself, this was her purpose now. She may not be able to kill as many of the traitors as she would have liked, but she could spirit a few relics out of the city to safety. Perhaps it would even be easier for her, on her own. Stealth was not the usual domain of the Adepta Sororitas, but how hard could it be? Besides, her goal was righteous. The Emperor would guide her to success. He would not want the legacy of His saints imperiled. 

First, she would have to escape the battlefield. She had no idea how to get to the relics, and any investigation to that end would have to be conducted away from any armies that wanted her dead. First, she knelt in prayer. It was the best, and only, measure of preparation she could manage. It was calming, if nothing else. The action was beyond familiar; prayer was as much a part of her as her hands. It centered her being, reminded her why she was doing what she did, and why she needed to do what was before her. She ran through verses drilled into her from the very earliest days at the Schola Progenium. After a couple minutes, far too short, Nochtli stood once more, ready to fulfill her duty, for the Emperor and her fallen sisters. She checked her wargear: two more clips for each pistol, a jump-pack with three-quarters fuel remaining, armor battered-minus helmet-but still functional, and a pair of frag grenades. It would have to do.

She ran for the roof’s edge. A leap, a press of the activation rune, and she was soaring once more. This time, instead of being confined by the impervious metal walls of an elevator shaft, she cut a broad arc through the sky, blazing twin paths of fire behind her. With the ash-stained wind whipping by her face, Nochtli almost felt something like a thrill. This was what it meant to be a seraphim: flying through the air like a bolt of the Emperor’s judgement, unconstrained by the bounds of mortal limits. Up here in the sky was the freedom to strike wherever needed, to come down like a wrathful angel and sweep away all before her. There was no feeling like it: seraphim were entirely unlike any other warrior in the Imperium, even their fellow, earthbound sisters. Inflight, they often said to one another, they were avatars of justice more than they were mortals.

Nochtli realized her mistake too late. By the time she heard the ripple of booms, shells were already tearing through the air around her. On instinct, she spun into a dive, snapping her head around in a desperate bid to find the offenders. Brief glimpses were all she got. Fire spilled into the sky from multiple points in the cityscape. There was a pinprick of pride that so many of the city’s anti-air batteries were being dedicated to her, but this was squashed by just how many bullets and shells were currently being shot at Nochtli. Most of it came in the form of stuttering streams that whipped through the air in short bursts. Some, though, were heavier shells that exploded in sharp cracks of shrapnel. It was all Nochtli could do to avoid being torn to pieces. Were she alongside the other sisters of her squad, they would crash down amongst the emplacements and deliver a harsh lesson about their impudence. Alone, she was more akin to a leaf caught in a hurricane. The Battle Sister spun, dove, and wove in erratic, random motions that were already doing unpleasant things to the contents of her stomach.

Nochtli was painfully aware of the fact that whatever luck or grace yet preserved her could not last for long. Shrapnel pinged off her armor and cut her face. Blast waves tossed her. She made a decision.  
With a twist, Nochtli rocketed down towards the cityscape as fast as the jumpack could propel her. The force crushed the skin of her face painfully, and strained her limbs and armor alike, but she dared not stop. The anti-air fire was chasing her down all the way.

At the last possible second, she pulled up as hard as she could, the jumpack’s machine spirit screaming with the effort. It wasn’t enough. The ground was coming up too fast. At first, she managed a sort of stumbling run, feet barely touching the stone. This lasted only a second, and then Nochtli fell. She hit hard, rattling her down to the bone. She rolled across the ground, uncontrolled, battering every part of her and her armor. The pain was tremendous. At last, she hit something, a far too-solid wall. This last shock of impact and pain almost seemed an insult. Finally, though, she had come to a stop, and no one was presently shooting at her.

Nochtli groaned hard, her entire being protesting at the act. If she were lucky, she would only be covered in bruises. She doubted she would be lucky. Getting up proved difficult. Battle Sisters were taught that faith in the Emperor was a salve for any pain or hardship, and Nochtli did not lack in devotion. She would not debase herself by screaming, or make a pathetic display of writhing. But oh, did she still feel the pain. Limbs trembled at the slightest gesture. She struggled to keep her body upright. She was no fresh-faced novice, shocked by the harsh realities of battle; Nochtli had experienced pain before. But that did not make it any easier. The process of standing up was slow, but steady. She would get there, eventually. But it would be far, far from pleasant.  
Nochtli had found herself in the middle of a common street, little more than a row of squat, slab-faced habblocks. Each of the pale-grey structures should have held entire family groups of menial workers but, as with the rest of the city so far, the street was silent, abandoned even by the surveillance cherubs that should have prowled the skies. The street did not wear its abandonment well. What stretches of it were clearly visible under the dark skies were filthy with animal and human waste. Bones long-since picked clean by scavengers were the only other sign of life. Devotional and instructive posters lined the habblocks, but many were rendered illegible by age and defacement. It was far from a pleasing sight, but then it had never been intended as such. The scorched trail Nochtli’s jump-pack had left across the stones hardly made anything worse. At least it appeared yet untouched by the fighting.

Then time ran out. The clear stomp of heavy boots came from around a bend further down the street. Nochtli swore under her breath. The anti-air batteries must have alerted a nearby patrol to her location. She redoubled her efforts to stand up, but even urgency could only do so much about the stabbing pain. She was only just getting off her knees when three PDF troopers rounded the corner. The instant they saw her, they raised their lasguns. Nochtli’s hand shot towards one one the pistols mag-locked to her leg armor, but she was unbalanced, unprepared. She would never make it in time. There was nothing she could do.

Then the PDF sergeant just dropped. He crumpled to the ground in a loose heap, as if all the animating force in his body had suddenly vanished. In the dim light, Nochtli could just barely see a thin trickle of blood from a tiny would in the base of his head. The other troopers spun around wildly, searching for threats. They did not have to wait long. Seconds later, there was the impression of two soft hisses, and then the remaining troopers fell just as easily as the sergeant.

A figure emerged from the shadows of an alley. No, that didn’t do the sight justice, Nochtli decided. It was more accurate to say that a figure separated from the shadows, as if a moment before they had been one and the same. The figure wore a full-body cloak that shimmered with clear power, whatever technology it bore somehow making it difficult for Nochtli’s eyes to stay on it for long. The shadows clung to it stubbornly, like a child refusing to give up a toy. The newcomer held out a pistol, though it was clearly not of any sort of Imperial design. It was long and curved, with a flat, slot-like muzzle. It was dotted with little bumps of unknown purpose, and had a cylindrical magazine. Across the newcomer’s back was slung a large rifle of similar design, with a scope nearly half its length, and an end that looked more like a nozzle than muzzle. The figure moved quickly towards the slain PDF troopers, long limbs carrying it with unnatural grace, As it moved, the cloak parted occasionally to reveal glimpses of white-green armor. Compared to Nochlit’s ornate purple-black power armor, the newcomer was quite subdued. 

Nochtli was still recovering from the fall, and so her dazed mind was not quite in a potion to make a full appraisal of the situation. The newcomer was not here for her: they did not seem to be aware of the seraphim’s presence. Beyond that, though, Nochtli couldn’t fathom what they were doing, or why they were so fixated on some random PDF troopers. Despite her confusion, something needled at the back of Nochtli’s mind, demanding she remember something from an earlier briefing.

Then, as the newcomer knelt over the PDF sergeant and began searching his uniform for something, everything clicked into place in Nochtli’s mind. A fresh wave of hatred and revulsion washed over her, driving her to her feet in one motion. She all but tore a bolt pistol off her leg and snapped it up to point it directly at the newcomer. No, not a newcomer: an Aeldari. It was an alien. And Imperial doctrine was very, very clear on what the only fate of the alien could be.

“Die, xenos!” She shouted.

Then the Aeldari did something entirely unexpected, perhaps the only thing so surprising that it could keep Nochtli from pulling the trigger, if only out of sheer confusion.

The Aeldari sighed. Loudly. It was a sound that suggested nothing other than pure, overwhelming exhaustion.

“Do you find my actions that amusing, xenos?” Nochtli demanded. “Are you truly that arrogant?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” the Aeldari said. It spoke perfect High Gothic, though it’s voice had a lilting quality that made it’s every world seem slightly...off. “Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I simply have no time or wish to deal with your mindless blather. Now get on with it, please. Are you going to shoot me or not?”

Nochtli blinked in confusion. The Imperial Faith taught that the alien could not be understood by a pure human mind, but rarely had Nochtli known one to welcome death. She shook her head. The Aeldari were known for their trickery and schemes. Their words could not be trusted. There was some sort of deception here. Nochtli would not fall for this creature’s lies.

“What are you trying,” Nochtli said. She did not dare fire, not until she knew she would not somehow be playing into the alien’s hands. “You cannot fool me. I know you are attempting to deceive me.”  
“Am I now?” The Aeldari asked. It stood up slowly, now looking straight at Nochtli. It wore a narrow helmet, white faceplate surrounded by green. A large red eyepiece dominated one side. The alien’s hands stayed at its side, but did not drop the pistol. “I suppose I could be. Or, I am giving you the opportunity to kill me, because I simply do not care anymore.”

Nochtli’s hand shook with anger, though it was unclear if this was a product of righteous disgust for the alien, or the fact that this encounter refused to go in any way that makes sense. Indoctrination demanded action, but paranoia called for caution. Perhaps the Aeldari was buying time for more of its kind to surround the Battle Sister. This made some sense. Nochtli’s eyes flicked around, scanning the tops of the habblocks looking for any signs of slinking xenos. Nothing. For the first time, Nochtli wished she knew more about the Aeldari. She knew that it was not the place of someone as lowly as her to question the policies of her superiors, but if knowledge of such matters was to be left to cannonesses and inquisitors, then how was she supposed to know what to do? At the very least, she felt a pang of sympathy for those agents of the Imperium who dealt with the Aeldari on a regular basis. They seemed truly obnoxious. 

“You...wish to die?”

“Of course not.” Nochlti could not see the Aeldari roll their eyes, but she felt certain they had. “But, I’ve been stuck on this wretched world with all its...humanness...for far too long. Alone, I might add. All of my companions are dead, by the way, killed by the same ridiculous mon-keigh that killed yours. Seeing as I cannot seem to make any kind of progress in completing my objectives alone, I’m just tired. So, if my end is going to come because some random human can’t keep themselves from killing something for half a second, then fine. Just get on with it.”

Nochtli’s brain sputtered. There was no way she could respond to this. Absolutely nothing about Aeldari could be trusted: not their words, not their actions, nothing. As much as it would have pleased Nochtli to fulfill the alien’s “wish,” how could she? Her mind had become such a mess of half-thoughts and contradictions that any progress had become utterly impossible. Obviously, the Aeldari was trying to bait her into attacking, so that was out of the question. But then, wouldn’t simply slaying the alien be the best way to disrupt any plans they might have? It was all too much. Nochtli was just a seraphim, not even a Sister Superior. She was used to being given a target, and then obediently destroying it. She did not come up with the plans, nor was she well versed in tactical doctrine. Quite simply, she was lost. So confused, there was only one thing she could think of doing that satisfied her baffled mind.

“No. I’m not playing whatever game you want, xenos,” Nochtli said, lowering the bolt pistol. She said these words quickly and authoritatively, as if they represented decisive action rather than borderline panicked flailing. 

“Fine. whatever,” the Aeldari sighed. It was a deep, exhausted noise, as if the alien was actually disappointed. “If we’re done here, please leave. Go find your own corner of this useless planet to sulk in.”

“I will not ‘sulk,’ xenos,” Nochtli snapped. She might have been too nervous to kill the alien, but that didn’t mean she had to tolerate it in any way. “I intend to do whatever I can to avenge my sisters.”

“Oh, please. What’s the point? You saw that ship go down. Suppose you manage to kill an entire army by yourself. How do you intend to get off-world? Give up.”

“I can still keep the relics safe,” Nochtli said. She decided these would be the last words she ever said to the Aeldari. There was nothing to be gained from this...conversation, and she needed to get moving if she intended to stay ahead of the PDF. Besides, every second spent in the presence of the Aeldari was a second that threatened to stain her soul. Nochtli resolved that the Aeldari would not survive their next encounter, no matter its schemes.

She spun around and began to stomp off.

“Wait.”

Nochtli looked back, if only to make sure the Aeldari wasn’t about to attack.

Instead, the alien had removed their helmet. This act revealed what could have been the face of a human woman, save for a small number of obviously alien features. Her face was angular far beyond the most severe human features, with deep sapphire eyes that gave the impression of a hunting bird examining its prey. Her ears were pointed like daggers. It was all framed by long waves of blue hair secured in a high bun.  
“I think we should start this all over,” the Aeldari said, not-quite-musical voice suddenly perfectly steady. “My name is Luthiel, ranger of Craftworld Biel-tan. I believe that I know what your enemy’s plans are, and I would like to assist you in stopping them.”


	2. Truth and Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, sorry this took so long. Other projects and ideas, you see.  
> Anyway, the first thing I wanted to do was thank everyone who read the first chapter, as especially those of you who left such kind words in the comments. That was a hell of a thing to see on your first piece of 'published' writing. Seriously, thanks again. I hope I can continue to improve and that y'all will continue to like it.  
> The good news is that I now have a few more idea of how to proceed with this story if things continue to go well. Whether or not those ideas are any good or all...well that remains to be seen.  
> Anyway, here's this thing. Enjoy!

Nochtli stared at the Aeldari, her gaze so intense that she didn’t even blink. She told herself this was to better assess the truth of what Luthiel had just said. If ever there was a time for her to get a grasp on whatever it was the xenos was scheming, it was now. If there was a chance-any chance-that the Aeldari had information that could aid in destroying the traitorous PDF, then it had to be obtained. Nochtli mentally castigated herself. No truly pious Sister of Battle would consider the assistance of an alien for even a second. But, if she were being honest, then...she had nothing. The “plan” of trying to secure the city’s relics was obviously ridiculous and impossible. Even with faith in The Emperor, there was simply no way she could fight the entire PDF of Alken III herself. She needed some sort of lead, or hint, or...something. As much as it offended every bit of her being and training and faith, she needed help. But help from a xenos would surely-

Nochtli shook her head. This was getting her nowhere. There couldn’t be much time before more PDF appeared.

“What do you mean, ‘you know what my enemy’s plans are?’” Nochtli snapped. It was hardly the most elegant or useful thing she could have said, but alas. To her mind, it sounded aggressive enough. Luthiel sighed, impatient and unamused.

“My people would not visit this wretched world for no reason, you know,” the ranger said. She spoke slowly, as if to a particularly stupid child. “My team was investigating intelligence that our...wayward...kin were active in this system.”

“The painbringers? They are here?” Nochtli asked. Fresh horror flared in her breast. While the Imperial Creed had no love for any breed of alien, the Drukhari were known to be especially vile. They were Aeldari who lived in the no-spaces of the galaxy, and used their unparalleled skill as torturers and pirates to quite literally feed on pain. When facing them in battle, the true danger was not death, but being captured alive.

“So we believe,” Luthiel confirmed, in a tone that said ‘obviously, so be silent.’ “A number of relics from my people’s golden age are thought to be lost in this region of space. We suspect the Drukhari are looking for them.”

“Why should I care about some dusty ruins?” Nochtli snapped. She should have trusted her instincts. The Aeldari were well known to be obsessed with their dying empire. This had nothing to do with anything that mattered to Nochtli.

“These aren’t ‘ruins,’” Luthiel sighed. “At the height of our power, my people could move worlds on a whim. Do you have any idea what kind of weapons we made? Or what our twisted kin could do with them?”

Nochtli paused. This was perhaps more worthwhile. She could certainly support the idea of denying the painbringers more weapons with which to ply their depraved trade. But since when were the Aeldari known to be forthcoming? There was no doubt Luthiel was hiding something. Only now, Nochtli had the slimmest reason to get it out of her.

“So what, there’s an Aeldari armory on this world that’s gone unnoticed for millions of years?” Nochtli asked. “The Imperium has been developing this world for millennia. We would have found it, and destroyed it.”

“Not...precisely,” Luthiel said. She crossed her arms and glanced away, as if she were about to say something difficult. “Our assumption was that you Mon’keigh had mistakenly swept up the weapon as one of your ‘holy relics.’ the Drukhari must have thought so too. But obviously, they did not find it here. They must have started looking for...other such repositories.”

After that, Luthiel was pointedly silent. If Nochtli didn’t know better, she would have thought the Aeldari embarrassed. For a brief moment, the Battle Sister was confused. Then, the full implication of what the alien woman was saying slammed into her like a hammer.

“How dare you,” Nochtli snarled in pure, white-hot rage. She stormed up to Luthiel and grabbed onto the front of her cloak in one savage motion. She lifted hard and, though her power armor’s servos whined with the effort, pulled the Aeldari a good few inches off the ground. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I will not allow you to insult the honor of my Order, xenos.”

“I don’t intend to insult anything, human,” Luthiel snapped back, only partially mocking. “But if our intelligence and scrying is correct-which it is-then the weapon both we and the Drukhari seek is on that ship of yours. Everything that has happened here-the death of my comrades, the message that lured you here, the destruction of your Order, the betrayal of those soldiers-is their work. They want the weapon, and are likely already on their way to retrieve it from the wreckage.”

Nochtli stared at Luthiel with open-mouthed horror. What she was suggesting was utterly unthinkable. That not only had the Order of the Twilight Serpent been protecting an alien weapon as one of their holy relics for centuries, but had been doing so unknowingly? The idea was blasphemous beyond measure. It was all Nochtli could do to keep herself from ending Luthiel then and there. She wasn’t sure she should be holding back. It would be so easy, she realized. The Aeldari’s simple armor would be nothing before her power armor-augmented might.

“I should have known. All you want is to protect some vile, alien...thing,” Nochtli said, to keep herself from doing anything too rash.

“What I want is for you to help me keep a supremely dangerous weapon out of the hands of those who could do unimaginable harm with it,” Luthiel responded, voice cool and calm. Evidently, Nochtli’s threats were not having their intended effect.

It was then that Nochtli realized the true horror of the situation. She was no expert on alien physiology-such topics were rarely covered in the Schola Progenium-but even she could tell that Luthiel was telling the truth, or at least making no attempt to deceive the seraphim. The Aeldari looked far too tired, far too worn down, for that. Her expression was one of resignation, of one who was making one last ditch effort that they expected to fail. And if Luthiel was telling the truth, then that meant...

“No, no,” That can’t be right. E-even if this...even if it is onboard the Chariot, then...then surely it was destroyed in the crash. There’s no way anything survived,” Nochtli said. While the Aeldari’s face stubbornly refused to crack, the Battle Sister’s certainly did. What she was saying was a painfully obvious denial: accepting the Aeldari’s words as truth for even for a second had been too much, and now there was no going back. All she could hope for was that there was no reason to actually confirm Luthiel’s claims, and thus no reason to confront their reality.

“If the weapon is truly what I believe it to be, then it will have survived. Easily.”

Nochtli dropped Luthiel involuntarily. The other woman fell back into place smoothly and automatically, as if she had been in control the entire time. The seraphim, though, stumbled backwards. Her mind was in turmoil. Memories, disobedient and disloyal, searched the long history of the Order of the Twilight for any hint that would, ideally, prove Luthiel wrong. It simply couldn’t be true that generations upon generations of Battle Sisters had been mistakenly venerating an alien artifact. Their faith could not have been that misplaced, it was simply not possible. Even the faintest thought that Nochtli might have been party to such a transgression was...her entire soul shuddered.

“Can you be done with whatever it is you’re going through, please?” Luthiel demanded, alarm rising in her almost-musical voice. “The soldiers are coming back, and it seems like there are quite a few more of them this time.”

Nochtli snapped back to attention, and drew both her bolt pistols once more. There was indeed a heavy patter of boots coming closer. Her mouth widened into a feral grin. She desperately needed some heretics to kill. She stepped forward, past Luthiel, and raised a pistol. Her trigger finger twitched with anticipation, barely restrained from just firing bolt shells into the gloom. The boot-steps got closer, louder. There would indeed be many soldiers rounding the corner in just a few moments. What followed might not last long, or accomplish much, but it would be satisfying.

“What are you doing, fool? Did you hear anything I just said? How is throwing your life away helpful?” Luthiel snapped. She grabbed Nochtli by the shoulder, as if to physically pull her away from the PDF. Nochtli shoved the Aeldari off of her instinctively. 

“Don’t touch me, xenos,” the seraphim said. “I have a duty to fight the enemies of The Emperor, and I’m not abandoning that because of you. Now get out of my way. I don’t need to stand here and listen to your lies.”

“You don’t want to listen to what I’ve already said? Fine,” Luthiel said, increasingly frantic urgency in her voice. “Then listen to this: if the people responsible for what’s happening here get their way, they will be able to inflict unspeakable suffering on the entire galaxy, both on my people and your Imperium. The two of us might be the only ones left on this world who have any chance or desire to stop that from happening. And, if we don’t leave right now, then that’s all right out the window. So, do you want to do your people some actual good, or just die in a random street?”

This, at last, gave Nochtli some pause. What few rational parts of her mind were still working understood that the scale of the PDF’s treachery could not go unaddressed, xenos subversion or no. If she died here-and she would, if she fought-it was all too likely that no one would even know that this rot needed to be stopped before it could fester. Moreover, she was being presented with an opportunity, however small, to do just that. Nochtli could not deny that saving the world in its entirety sounded rather more appealing than dying with her obligations to The Emperor unfulfilled. And, in the darkest corners of her mind, there was another reason she considered the Aeldari’s offer.

Past all of Nochtli’s faith, indoctrination, and training, some part of her-not small enough-needed to know. She needed to know if what the Aeldari said about the Order’s holy relics was true.

“What, then?” Noctli asked. It took all of her strength to force the words through gritted teeth. The hand holding the bolt pistol trembled for all to see.

“Like I said, the soldiers are likely already making for the wreckage of your ship,” Luthiel spoke quickly but freely, as if some sort of blockage had been released. “We need to get there before them. My comrades and I entered this city to the east. If we can reach our camp, our vehicles should be able to outpace human vehicles.”

“Fine. Fine,” Nochtli snapped. She forced disgust with herself as far down as she possibly could. If she were to act, she needed to do so immediately, before she could think better of it. She slammed her bolt pistols back into place, the sound of the mag-locks engaging ringing down the street. Then she turned, and jumped. The roar of her jump-pack igniting drowned out Luthiel’s protests.

Sister Nochtli shot into the air, limbs shaking with rage at the galaxy, the PDF and, most of all, herself.

...

Nochtli flew low, only sometimes above the skyline, so as not to be spotted again by the anti-air batteries. Whether or not this worked, she made the rest of her journey towards the eastern edge of the city unmolested. She flew fast, far faster than she needed to, pushing the jump-pack to its absolute limits in the hopes that the force and focus would drown out her turbulent emotions. They did not. The journey was spent with clenched teeth and burning anger. As the day grew late and the sky naturally dark, Nochtli became a fiery comet streaking across the tops of the city’s tallest buildings. If one were to see this sight from afar, they could not have thought it a person, but rather the incarnation of a wrathful god.

Eventually, after a period of time Nochtli didn’t bother to track, she reached what she decided was her destination. She cut the jump-pack’s thrust almost too late, and came to a stumbling stop at the base of a huge wall. Without her helmet, Nochtli couldn’t get a precise measure of how much fuel was left for the pack, but experience suggested that there was a little less than half of the tank left. This was hardly good news, but Nochtli pushed it to the side. There was nothing she could do to address the issue, even if she wanted to.

At first, she hoped idly that she had traveled too quickly and freely for the Aeldari to follow her. But sure enough, a minute or so later the telltale glimmer of Luthiel’s cloak peeled out of the shadows behind the seraphim.

“Well then, I hope we can talk a bit more calmly,” Luthiel said. She sounded entirely unfazed by recent events, but the underlying sense of pure exhaustion that colored her voice and motions was still present.

“I’m not here to talk. This is where you wanted to go?” Nochtli asked. She was already approaching the looming wall. The edifice of grimy metal stretched out further than could be seen in either direction, tilted out slightly towards the horizon. Huge power lines and exhaust pipes sketched a chaotic maze along the length. The domes of defense emplacements and observation posts could just be seen on the top. At the base, a network of checkpoints and guard posts protected a narrow flight of switch-back stairs that lead to the top. All of it, like the rest of the city, was deathly quiet, save for the passive clunking of ancient, abandoned machinery.

“No need to be rude, human,” Luthiel said as she walked up to meet the Battle Sister. She paused at the door to the checkpoint that led into the small complex before the stairs, and began to fiddle with the lockpad.

“I am not called ‘human,’” Nochtli bristled. “My name is Nochtli.”

“Well then, Nochtli, seeing as I’ve already told you my name, you could use it too, rather than whatever pejorative you favor,” Luthiel said.

Nochtli’s response caught in her throat. She couldn’t well argue that. Evidently, the Aeldari was unprepared for sudden silence, for an awkward pause fell over the pair for a few moments. Luthiel cleared her throat, mostly to make noise.

“At any rate. Yes, this is where my comrades and I entered the city. I see no reason we should not be able to retrace our steps to return to the camp.” With a push of a rune and a harsh buzz, the checkpoint door swung open. “However, I first need to confirm that the camp is still there. No point in wasting time, yes?”

Luthiel gave Nochtli no chance to debate this point, for the ranger swiftly moved through the open door. Less than thirty seconds later, she appeared on the staircase, moving up inhumanely fast. Nochtli sighed in frustration, but jetted up towards the stairs promptly, unwilling to let the Aeldari out of her sight for too long. She landed on a point of the stairs well above the Aeldari, entirely for her own satisfaction. Sadly, the ranger didn’t react, instead pushing past the Battle Sister without a word.

At first, Nochtli wasn’t sure what Luthiel hoped to find atop the wall. It was, apparently, the outermost point of the city. The battlement, wide enough for a tank to travel along comfortably, terminated in a sheer drop to the surface of Alken III. That surface was quite a ways away, too. The fortress-cities of Alken III were towering constructions, intended to keep the peoples and works of The Emperor well removed from the beasts and ravaging ion storms native to the world. Gun batteries and anti-climbing spines dotted the exterior of the wall in prodigious numbers all the way down to a surface that resembled an out-of-focus pict-screen more than solid ground. Nochtli couldn’t imagine what information could be gained from so high up, amidst the howling wind.

But then Luthiel produced what had to be some kind of alien magnoculars from beneath her cloak and trained them at the base of the wall.

“Good, the camp is yet untouched,” Luthiel said, satisfied. Nochtli peered over the edge, and saw nothing that could be construed as encouraging. “We’ll have to get moving. The path my team took up here was not an easy one. Oh, you won’t have trouble with some climbing, will you? You humans can be so clumsy.”

Luthiel didn’t even try to hide her mocking tone. Nochtli ignored the insult.

“We just need to get to the base of this wall, yes?” Nochtli asked, still scanning the ground.

“That’s what I said, now-”

“Better idea,” Nochtli said, grabbing Luthiel by the waist.

...

Over the next couple of minutes, Nochtli learned a great deal of what she assumed was Aeldari profanity. Certainly, Luthiel had been shouting something in her language, but the sheer volume, intensity, and cross-cultural venom of her words suggested that they were rather unkind. Nochtli supposed that she had some reason to be upset: the seraphim wouldn’t necessarily appreciate it if someone she barely knew suddenly grabbed her, jumped off a very tall wall, and then free-fell for a good few miles before abruptly firing a jump pack at the very last second. Nocthli also supposed she would appreciate the act even less if said person had deliberately carried her down in the most embarrassing fashion they could think of, namely like a princess from a particularly trite holo-vid. Then again, none of this knowledge had kept Nochtli from doing all of that to Luthiel.

Despite the overwhelming emptiness of the vast majority of the city, Nochtli still assumed that some of the gun-batteries that peppered the tower-wall would have to open fire. If they did, there would be little she could do about it. But the large las-turrets and macro-barrels remained nothing more than threatening decorations all the way down. Aside from the flailing, cursing Aeldari woman cradled in her arms, it was a perfectly simple trip to the surface of Alken III.

Nochtli landed in a roaring plume of flame and smoke, spread out in a circle around her. She was quite proud of the landing, all things considered: there was only a faint shudder up her legs and body, and only a little pain. Really, it was a better trip than Luthiel deserved.

The Aeldari all but fell out of Nochtli’s grasp, only her alien grace keeping her on her feet. Still, she stumbled a few feet, working out the momentum from the drop. She came to a rest doubled over, clutching at her knees gasping for breath. Some deeply unpleasant noises came from behind her helmet. Nochtli grinned in smug satisfaction, while she brushed off her armor theatrically. If the Aeldari was going to insist on being in Nochtli’s presence, then she could at least ensure the alien regretted it.

“Why?” Luthiel demanded. That single word was imbued with an entire galaxy’s worth of spite and incomprehension.

“The warriors of The Emperor do whatever it takes to achieve our goals as quickly as possible,” Nochtli said, and added nothing else.

“I see,” Luthiel grumbled. With slowly, tortured motions, she pushed herself up, trying to force some shred of dignity back into her posture. “Well, now that we’re here, we really ought to get moving.”

Certainly, Luthiel could change the topic. And with that act, any sense of pleasure that Nochtli felt, largely derived from the Aeldari’s suffering, was replaced with the grim reality of her situation and the moral sacrifices she was making for the faintest hope of victory.

“You know where this camp is, so what are you complaining about,” Nochtli said, her mood thoroughly soured.

“Right this way,” Luthiel said, bowing in a mocking impression of some sort of servant.

Regardless of what either woman thought of each other, the ranger did lead them towards the Aeldari camp though, as Nochtli learned, ‘camp’ was rather generous a term. At first, she hadn’t seen anything, just more of Alken III’s cracked scrubland pressed up against the metal wall of the city. But then Luthiel indicated a seemingly unremarkable patch of land. Suddenly, Nochtli realized that somehow she had subconsciously avoided looking at that one spot, her eyes passing over it like it wasn’t there. Luthiel pressed a rune on her armor and with a sub-vocal crackle, some technology disengaged, and the Aeldari camp was visible. It wasn’t much, little more than an assortment of packs and other strange containers of alien materiel that Nochtli didn’t care to identify, all secured in tight clumps. A few bedrolls were evident, also tied up for transport or storage.

Of most interest, though, were the five vehicles that crowded the middle of the space. They were jetbikes, almost minimalist craft that consisted of little more than an engine, seat, and long, pointed nose. A single gun was slung on the underside. Presently, they rested just above the ground on pairs of almost delicate-looking fins, as if waiting for masters that would never return. The craft were made of sleek angles, like flying daggers. The front of each bore an Aeldari rune, likely representing Luthiel’s craftworld. The rest was the same green-and-white of Luthiel’s armor. The craft had none of the solid, robust construction of Imperial vehicles. Nochtli couldn’t imagine how any right-minded being would want to travel anywhere on such a flimsy thing, let alone into battle. In better times, the seraphim would have taken great pleasure in aiding her squad in blowing them out of the sky. But Luthiel allowed no more time for this fantasy.

“We’ll need these to outpace any of their search parties,” the ranger said as she pressed runes on two of the jet-bikes. With obedient hums and engine flares, the two craft lifted off the ground a few feet before hovering in place.

“You want me to ride your foul technology?” Nochtli asked in disbelief. Working with the xenos was one thing, but the Imperial Creed was quite explicit about the works of the alien. 

“Yes,” Luthiel sighed. “Unless you think you can reach the crashed ship with just that jump-pack of yours, let alone outrun the soldiers. You’ll run out of fuel before you make it half way.”

Nochtli gritted her teeth in anger, but said nothing. Luthiel was, distressibly, not wrong. And, she realized with no small amount of horror, that she had already committed unforgivable blasphemy in the eyes of her comrades just by humoring the Aeldari. Rejecting this one heresy would do nothing to change that. 

You may as well, said a part of her mind Nochtli didn’t want to think existed. And worst of all, she didn’t fight it nearly enough. She reminded herself that this was all to take vengeance for her sisters.

The next half an hour was spent by Luthiel teaching Nochtli the finer points of operating an Aeldari jet-bike. It was not an easy process, as it turned out the Battle Sister was unprepared for the arcane complexity and otherness of Aeldari technology. Even as Luthiel got increasingly frustrated with her impromptu pupil, Nochtli struggled to grasp what the purpose of all the runes and gems and even less identifiable controls were. Worse, it was clear that Luthiel was no instructor: she taught as if she were reciting lines from a manual; the gulf of the two women’s experiences proved a difficult obstacle indeed.

And yet at the end of it, Nochtli found herself sitting in the saddle of the alien craft, with the vaguest understanding of what inputs would do what. It sagged slightly under the weight of her power armor and jump-pack, its engine whining with the effort, but it yet hovered. As disgust flared once more within Nochtli’s breast, she regretted her choices. This machine was clearly unnatural. It produced none of the heavy, mechanical noises of proper Imperial creations, nor was there any power behind the bike’s controls. When Luthiel had pointed out the powersource, it had been nothing more than a couple of ovoid crystals the size of Nochtli’s hand. Anything so small that could, supposedly, so efficiently power such a vehicle had to be unnatural. Nochtli couldn’t even feel the anger of the thing’s machine spirit-if it even had one. She doubted it had seen any sort of sacred oils or purifying rituals. She shuddered at the thought. It felt delicate.

But Luthiel had already mounted her own bike, and was making to depart for wherever. She seemed totally unfazed, and had made no secret of how disappointed she was in her ‘student.’ Nochtli was struck with the sudden urge to not let the Aeldari get ahead of her. She pressed what she thought she remembered was the acceleration. She was, strictly speaking, correct. With unerringly smooth motions, the jetbike shot forward far faster than anything Nochtli had ever experienced. The sudden movement panicked her, and she pulled hard on the handle bars, trying to stop it with sheer force, not even coming close to using the actual controls. All this did was make the bike spin wildly through the air. By some Emperor-sent miracle, Nochtli remembered which of the runes was supposed to stop the engines and pressed it hard enough she assumed the filigree design would crack. The bike slammed to an abrupt halt, barely managing to stay airborne, let alone upright. It then obediently sank back to the ground. Nochtli’s whole body trembled with adrenaline. She assumed the world would stop spinning eventually.

Luthiel’s bike idly pulled up to Nochtli, who was still panting in the saddle. The Aeldari looked down, and Nochlti could feel her perverse joy.

“What’s wrong, Nochtli? I thought you liked speed.”

...

In the end, the two women traveled well into the night. Despite her open distaste for the machine, Nochtli’s mastery of the jetbike grew quickly. While she could come nowhere near the Aeldari’s inhuman nimbleness, she could at least move quickly enough so as not to slow their pace. But although the jetbikes moved incredibly fast, it was not enough to reach the Chariot of Casta’s wreckage that night. There was no particular sign that the journey would pause: Luthiel had simply come to a halt in what could only be called the middle of nowhere, dismounted, and began to set up camp.

Nochtli needed no further encouragement to get off her own vehicle. While she of course wished to be free of the xenos machine as soon as possible, there were also other, more personal reasons: without her helmet, Nochtli’s poor face had taken the full force of a constant barrage of airborne dust and other far less pleasant particulates. The first thing she did upon dismounting was to wipe her face and watery eyes clean aggressively. Luthiel had no such problems, and so by the time Nochtli had fully recovered the Aeldari had already removed her helmet and was relaxing in the makeshift camp.

It was spartan, to say the least: some sort of chemical fire-pit, and a couple of bedrolls that Nochtli noted had been set up rather far apart. It wasn’t terribly inviting, but it was something. The wilds of Alken III had so far been quiet, but that could not last for long. When the monsters of the world finally came calling, Nocthli did not want it to be in the dark. So, she sat down on the open bedroll, thankful for rest, if nothing else. Only then did she realize just how truly tired she was. Every bit of her mind wanted to keep moving, to reach the Chariot as soon as possible to learn the truth, but it was clear her body would not let her. They were clearly on the right track, at least: the colossal pillar of smoke on the horizon left no doubt on that account. Luthiel was quietly eating whatever passed for Aeldari rations. Nochtli had no food of her own, but was determined not to debase herself by asking for handouts from an alien. She wasn’t hungry anyway, she told herself.

Instead, she turned to prayer. After everything that had happened, she desperately needed to center herself. She got off the bedroll, knelt on the hard dirt, bent her head, and closed her eyes. She did not want to look at the night sky. Alken III’s sky was relatively clear for an Imperial world, but this wasn’t a blessing. Though the Great Rift was not visible from this side of the planet, its influence was still present: the stars themselves seemed distorted, somehow wrong. There was no solace amidst the dark. Instead, Nochtli turned her thoughts entirely to The Emperor, for there was the only truth in the galaxy.

“What are you doing?” Luthiel asked, her lyrical voice disrupting the seraphim’s focus.

“Praying,” Nochtli snapped, hoping the answer would quiet the Aeldari. It did not.

“What good could that possibly do? Get some rest,” Luthiel said, her disdain plain. Nochtli could feel those sapphire eyes passing judgement on the back of her head.

“I know you have your own vile gods. Who are you to talk?” Nocthli asked through gritted teeth. She had no desire to argue faith with an alien.

“Your Emperor is dead,” Luthiel said. This did not anger the seraphim as much as she might have expected. Or rather, it was unsurprising. What Luthiel said next, though, was. “As are our gods, slain by our own hubris. There’s no one out there who you want to hear your prayers. Don’t count on hope.”

“Then why bother fighting?” Nochtli snorted. She looked up at the Aeldari, resigned to her fate of conversation.

“Survival, I suppose. I’ll not give my soul over to She Who Thirsts quite yet, I think. But I’m not so naive as to think there’s any other purpose to be found.”

“So what, you want nothing other than your own life? What’s the point of that?”

“Nothing, I guess. Congratulations, you’re the first mon-keigh to so thoroughly undo the philosophy of an Aeldari.” Luthiel rolled her eyes, and then flopped down on her bedroll, clearly signaling the end of the matter.

Nochtli frowned. Something refused to sit right with her about what had just transpired. For the first time, she was frustrated with Luthiel for a reason other than their natural differences, and she knew that the matter would not be forgotten easily.


	3. Ruins and Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I really need to figure out how to get these things out there more frequently. Anyway, here's the next chapter. It's a good bit longer, but I hope y'all still enjoy!

The first oddity Nochtli noticed was that there was no sign of the PDF. If they were indeed after the Chariot of Casta, then there should have been some hint of a search party. Engine sounds, dust plumes, contrails, tracks, even distant sightings. Nochtli was no tracker, but surely there had to be something. And yet the skies and scrubland was clear, in every direction, for miles and miles. There wasn’t much vegetation on Alken III, at least not much that could hide a trasport. And so Nochtli had very little doubt that they were, in fact, utterly alone out there in the wastes. Alken III was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Despite the haste that Luthiel had so fervently demanded, there seemed to be little cause for such concern.  
This was not the blessing it might have seemed, at least not for Nochtli. Without enemies, she did not have purpose. And without purpose, she did not have surety. And without surety she had to worry that the wreck of the Chariot might not be the enemy’s goal after all, and thus have no relevance to anything. If that were the case, then Nochtli had wasted all this time, and imperiled her soul, for nothing. This was unthinkable. Never in her life had Nochtli doubted her purpose. With faith in the God Emperor, all was certain and clear. None questioned the actions of the Adepta Sororitas, for they were His will made manifest, and to oppose that was the very definition of heresy. Until that moment, Nochtli had never even considered that things could be otherwise.

Now, though, there was no choice. She realized that she had been caught up in the adrenaline and pressure of the moment when she agreed to go with Luthiel. There was no way she could have been thinking clearly, she decided. How else could she have wound up working with an alien? She had consented to heresy, for Emperor’s sake. Nochtli was no heretic, so she must have been impaired, somehow. The Drukhari were supposed to be manipulating the PDF, somehow, so perhaps they had already gotten to her. But then, that would surely be worse.

Nochtli shook herself back to focus. This mental turmoil was equally unhelpful. She must have been growing tired-bored, even-on the long trip to the crash site, but such base reactions were unbecoming of a Battle Sister. However unlikely or ill-advised, she had given herself this duty, and she would see it through. Her honor as a warrior demanded no less. The endless, empty journey had given her too much time to think, that was all. Thought invited doubt, and doubt invited defeat. She resolved to focus. If nothing else, controlling the jet-bike still required no small amount of effort.

Largely for something to do, she pushed her bike forwards, next to Luthiel. Even before the Aeldari acknowledged her, Nochtli asked her what she thought about the lack of PDF vehicles. Luthiel was supposed to be some sort of scout, after all. Surely, she would have some idea. 

“Well, this planet is infested by deadly beasts, yes?” Luthiel said. “Perhaps they are waiting for said beasts to finish off any survivors before moving in themselves.”

That was the last time Nochtli would be asking the ranger for advice. She let her jet-bike fall behind, unwilling to be in the other woman’s presence for the time being. It seemed Luthiel had nothing else to say to her, besides.

But then, with dawning horror, Luthiel was proven right.

For the past two days, the pair had nothing to go on but the column of smoke that blotted out a good part of the horizon. They had stayed zeroed in on that, assuming that it would inevitably lead to the crash. As the second day began to draw to a close, it appeared. One moment, the horizon looked as it always had: endless scrubland and smoke. The next, a towering pile of twisted metal rose up from the ground like an unnatural mountain.

The Chariot of Casta was not a large vessel, by Imperial standards, just less than a mile long when whole. It was far from whole. The defense platforms-for that was what had to have brought it down-had ripped massive gashes across what remained of the hull; lasbeam and macroshell impacts told a tale of destruction on a vast scale. The crash itself had been worse by far. Reentry had stripped swathes of already-tattered hull to atoms, breaking the ship into a multitude of fragments, large and small. Impact had destroyed most of them utterly, and those that survived were little more than unrecognizable heaps. Still, they had been enough to blast a wide crater into the ground, centered around the wreckage like a perverse shrine. Smoke rose from it in roiling waves, the acrid fumes stinging Nochtli’s eyes and making it hard to look at the wreckage for long.

But that was not what held Nochtli’s attention. Bodies covered the ground in and around the crater in a rotting, stinking tide. More than Nochtli cared to count. Very few of them were human, though. At long last, the native beasts of Alken III had shown themselves. Even by the standards of xenos beasts, they were disturbing things. Vaguely speaking, they were parodies of ancient Terran insects the size of large canids: long, hard-shelled bodies that practically spilled over with countless chitinous limbs. A shovel-shaped head protruded from the front, and below compound eyes sprouted a pair of grossly-oversized, but wicked sharp, mandibles. Barely visible beneath the head were two grasping claws that barely extended further than the head. None of the things’ proportions looked right; it was as if a capricious god had gotten bored halfway through designing the beasts and given up. Species Iota-7409 was all the official records called them. They weren’t interesting enough to the Ordo Xenos to warrant another name. Those given the unenviable duty of controlling them referred to the creatures simply as Scuttlers.

But absurd as they might be, they were still extraordinarily dangerous. The tableau before Nocthli and Luthiel was proof enough of that. Species Iota-7409 was known to be extremely aggressive in search of prey, which consisted of any living thing other than themselves. It was plain to see that a swarm of Scuttlers had been drawn to the wreckage by survivors, and then attacked in search of food. Briefings aboard the Chariot had warned the Order that Species Iota-7409 was more than capable of biting through the toughest armors the Imperium produced. Proof of this was graphically demonstrated upon what remained of the once-proud vessel. Not all of the ship had been destroyed in the crash: entire sections of metal had been cleaved apart in what looked like perfectly clean cuts. Behind some such sections lay tattered remains of Imperial soldiers. Whether ceramite-clad battle sister or uniformed naval trooper, all had met the same brutally efficient fate.

The survivors had acquitted themselves well, though. There were far, far more dead Scuttlers than there were humans. Most had been brought down by the tell-tale cratered wounds left by bolt rounds, though Nochtli noted that most scuttlers bore multiple such wounds. Some of the mottled shells were marred by las-burns, and closer to the ship the other two members of the Holy Trinity made their presence known: melta beams and gouts of promethium had reduced whole scores of Scuttlers to ash. But not all of the twisted insects. Not nearly enough of them.

Nochtli was not some novice struggling to hold in the contents of her stomach at the first sight of a battlefield. But this grim tale still sank into her, creating a rather unwelcome pit deep in her gut. She tried to imagine what it would have been like for the crash survivors: wrong-footed by the initial betrayal, struggling to bring a dying ship under control, enduring a world-shattering impact. And then, those few who had thought themselves blessed enough to survive had been beset by these vile creatures. Many must have been slain before they could understand what was happening. Nochtli scowled deeply. This was not a good death, she decided. Such loyal servants of the Emperor did not deserve to be undone by treachery and then fed to alien beasts. The devastation gave her the tiniest bit of hope. So many of the Scuttlers had been slain, perhaps some Sisters yet remained within the broken ruins of the Chariot. Even as she thought this, she knew it was terribly unlikely. But still she hoped, and prayed.

The walk from crater’s edge to the wreck proper was unbearably silent. The devastation appeared to have mostly settled, meaning only the faintest crackles and groans of metal punctured the pall of death. It seemed wrong that so much death to have so little presence: to her mind, it confirmed that nothing else could remain.

There was no sign of movement, no hint of more Scuttlers seeking prey. That didn’t mean Nochtli was any less on edge. Both of her pistols were in hand, safeties off, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. She looked about constantly, trying to push her senses past all the smoke and stink, but it was in vain. Either there was nothing out there, or she wasn’t going to be able to tell if something was coming until it was too late. The fumes and sputtering flames surrounded her like a malignant shroud, and she did not doubt that it hid some sort of threat. The next couple of minutes passed quietly, tension and danger thick in the air. Moving through the crater, even Nochtli’s supposedly well-trained instincts twitched anxiously. She was ashamed to admit that she jumped more than a couple times at obviously innocuous sounds. 

The final straw, and disaster, almost came when Luthiel suddenly let out a sharp cry of pain. Nochtli was totally unprepared for such a noise: She had been looking away, her eye caught by the motion of what was probably a bird. Pure instinct kicked in, and the seraphim spun hard, raising a bolt pistol in the same motion. She was pulling the trigger even before she saw what she was aiming at. Only years and years of training and discipline kept her from actually firing. There was no threat, at least not obviously. As far as Nochtli could tell, Luthiel had just suddenly doubled over, clutching her head. 

“What’s the matter,” Nochtli snapped. Luthiel was some distance away, and so the Battle Sister had to raise her voice to be heard. She was concerned only so much as whatever was harming the Aeldari might next turn its attention to her.

“Can you really not feel that?” Luthiel replied, already recovering. Nochtli just glared, unwilling to play along.

“It must be dreadful for you Mon’keigh to be so ignorant,” Luthiel sighed. She walked back to Nochtli before continuing. “My people are attuned to the psychic energies of the galaxy far better than your kind could ever hope to understand. I am no seer, but even I can tell that someone, or something, within the wreckage is lashing out rather carelessly with potent psychic power. You’ll forgive me if I find the raw energies of the warp assaulting my mind somewhat uncomfortable.”

Nocthli frowned. Of all the horrors of the galaxy, the Adepta Sororitas held a special hatred for witchcraft in all its forms. There was no way someone capable of harnessing the warp would ever be counted among their number. Nochtli prepared to angrily inform Luthiel of this, but then paused. While the Order would never be the source of this apparent psychic distress-which the seraphim could feel none of-they were far from the only organization present on the Chariot.

“The astropaths!” Nochtli exclaimed. “Are they still alive?”

The sudden outburst startled Luthiel badly enough that it took the Aeldari a moment to compose herself.

“If a person is doing that, then they are going to be in very bad shape,” Luthiel said, cautiously. “And human psykers in ‘bad shape’ tend to be extraordinarily dangerous to everyone and everything around them.”

There was no obvious scorn or obfuscation in Luthiel’s voice. In all likelihood, she was genuinely trying to warn Nochtli against something she thought was a very bad idea. But caught up in the excitement of revelation, Nocthli was beyond such reasoned advice.

“If the astropaths are still alive, then that means that they can send out a distress call. They can summon the rest of the Order and then we can destroy both the PDF and Drukhari with ease!”

“Maybe, maybe,” Luthiel said, head bowed in thought. “I don’t understand how you ridiculous people think screaming into the warp is a reasonable way to communicate, but if there’s any chance it works...”

The Aeldari’s words trailed off. After a few moments more, she let out a frustrated sigh.

“Alright, fine,” she sighed. “We can try and find these astropaths. A tiny chance at calling for help is better than nothing. But our main goal remains finding the weapon, am I clear?”

“Yes, yes,” Nochtli said, dismissing Luthiel’s words with a wave of her hand. She hadn’t really been listening, anyway, too busy working towards the wreckage with renewed energy and enthusiasm.

At the very center of the crater were the largest remaining pieces of the Chariot of Casta. Though most of the ship was long-since vaporized, there was still more than enough left for two enormous, twisted mountains of metal to rise up from the tortured ground. Though they were but a small fraction of the ship's true size, each section was still taller than most hab blocks. It appeared as if the impact and split a larger piece in two, causing the segments to rise up at sharp angles. Huge swathes of the interior were exposed to air, almost all armor stripped away. It would have been extremely difficult for an unfamiliar observer to accurately tell what this ruined edifice had once been, for all of the Chariot’s once-noble purpose was gone. All that remained was a monument to death.

Nochtli had to pause at the base of the larger of the two sections. There were yet more dead Scuttlers, both on the ground surrounding the exposed corridors and rooms and within. But there were fewer now, far fewer than the multitudes in the crater. Great, unmistakable rents cut through bulkheads and walls to make wide gaps, clearly not a result of the crash. Already, Nochtli could see scraps of ruined power armor littering the sloped floors, with dark red stains on the metal besides. Nocthli found her legs suddenly growing heavy, each step forward a struggle. It seemed she was rather unwilling to see what she knew had to lie within. But she also knew there was no choice. From both memory and what Luthiel had said, she knew the astropathic choir had to be within this portion of the ship. If that were the case then the cathedrum, and the relics within, would not be far. The Order had thought that the holy presence of their relics would somehow protect against the unnatural warp energies radiating from the psykers.

More importantly, though, she could hear Luthiel approaching, and she couldn’t very well let the Aeldari see her trembling like a fool. So, she made herself take that first step into the Chariot. She picked a hallway at random, to look decisive. She strode forward as fast as she could, too quick a pace to be natural. Luthiel said nothing as she entered the ruins behind Nochtli. The ruins just groaned a mournful note as metal shifted and settled.  
...  
Being inside the Chariot was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, recent days had taught Nochtli that days on Alken III could be brutally dry and hot, especially to someone in heavy power armor. Thus, the dark metal provided a desperately needed respite from the sun’s gaze. More than that, Nochtli at last felt like she was doing something of real purpose. She would have had no regrets over spending her life in the city to take out a few more of the traitors, but she could not deny that this felt rather more productive. Even if she had to avoid thinking about what, exactly, it was she was supposed to be looking for.

On the other hand, there was very little else comforting about the ruins. The crash had put an end to any suggestion of power in the ship, and so there were no lumens to light the interiors. A few emergency strips cast pale glows that hardly had any effect on the gloom, so most illumination was provided by crackling fires. Thus, what parts of ship were at all visible were bathed in a hellish, pulsing radiance that mostly served to accentuate the underlying horror of the ruins. It made even the largest corridors seem claustrophobic. Worse still, the lack of light made any attempts at awareness a joke. It was entirely impossible to see down most corridors or into most rooms, and any that could be checked only gave a few feet. If there were still live Scuttlers within-and Nochtli’s paranoia had no doubt there were-there would be little chance to see them before it was too late. She had heard stories of Astartes delving into labyrinthine spaceships to cleanse them of xenos monstrosities. She did not envy them. There was another thought, unbidden at the back of awareness: if any survivors were miraculously still alive, they might not be able to tell who Nochtli was, if they saw her moving about at a distance. Sisters of Battle only reacted one way in such a situation.

On more than one occasion, Nochtli had shot a furtive glance back at Luthiel. Even the Aeldari seemed nervous, clutching her rifle and looking around constantly. Both women were wound tight, ready to jump-or more likely shoot-at the slightest offense.  
It was not easy going. The ruins rose up at a steep angle, turning what should have been a relatively quick walk into a slow climb. The mag-locks built into Nochtli’s boots meant she was in little danger of falling, and the damage inflicted on the ship meant there were plenty of handholds in the form of bent pipes or dangling sheets of metal, but working her way up the slope was an immediately tiring process. It was worse for Luthiel. Without the obvious aid of technology, she was forced to climb entirely under her own power. Nochtli smirked at the sight of the alien working her way awkwardly through to chaotic wreckage. Unfortunately, the labor didn’t seem to be exhausting Luthiel at all. Nochtli supposed she couldn’t have everything. 

For quite a while, they did not find anything, at least not anything new. There had already been multiple accidental run-ins with Scuttler corpses, but their numbers were far reduced from the swarm outside. As the dead Scuttlers vanished, they were replaced by ever more scraps of power armor, littered about the decks like pieces of torn parchment. There were no human bodies in evidence, only that which Species Iota-7409 had discarded for being inedible. In the darkness, it was practically impossible to see the dark blood staining every surface, but Nochtli knew it was there. She did not deny being thankful that she could not see.

Belatedly, she realized that she was walking through the closest thing to a tomb a quarter of the Order of the Twilight Serpent would ever get, and all she could do was offer them prayers as she passed their last remains by. The act felt shockingly empty. Nochtli cursed herself for her lack of faith, and quietly swore to atone, but she could not shake the feeling that she had committed some unforgivable sin by not being there for her sisters. It would have changed nothing, she knew, but...

She shook her head back to focus. Lack of conviction was for other, lesser beings. The Adepta Sororitas did not doubt, for their purpose was holy. She had chosen her path, and that meant that the God Emperor wanted her to be here. To second-guess herself was to second-guess Him. And that Nochtli would never do.

At last, they arrived somewhere useful. An elevator shaft sat before them and an odd angle, open and empty. A look up and down confirmed that it was clear, at least for a few decks in either direction, which was all Nochtli needed. 

“I assume you know where you’re going, because otherwise you’ve been tiring us out for the past who knows how long for no reason,” Luthiel said. For all the effort she seemed to be expending, the Aeldari remained just behind Nochtli, and frustratingly full of energy.

“I do, in fact,” Nochtli retorted. She pointed to a service ladder set into the wall of the elevator shaft. “The astropathic chambers are two decks up, as well as an armory where I can rearm and refill. Then, we come back down to this level, where the cathedrum is, and we can search for your weapon.”

Luthiel tilted her head in genuine confusion.

“Why bother? It obviously makes more sense to split up. You can deal with the astropaths, and I can go look for the weapon. I want to spend as little time as I possibly can in this place.”

“No,” Nochtli replied instantly. “We go together. I’m not letting you get anywhere near our sacred relics, and getting out a message to the rest of the Order is more important.”

“Are we really doing this right now?” Luthiel asked with a heavy sigh. “Can we not? This was going so well, I had almost thought you were being reasonable. You do see that this ship is infested by killer bug-things, right? We cannot afford to spend that much time here. Or had you forgotten that there are people with guns pursuing us as well? We don’t have time for your xenophobia.”

“We’re doing this my way, or not all,” Nochtli said, steadfast. She would not compromise. “The relics still belong to the Order, not to you. I say what happens to them.”

Luthiel appraised the seraphim silently for a long while. Her lips curled, making her too-perfect face take on an aspect that looked nothing like nothing more than a disapproving Schola instructor. Nochtli had certainly seen that face before, and it rarely heralded anything good for her mental or physical wellbeing. She suppressed a shudder that welled up from a deep, primal part of her being. 

But in the end, Luthiel didn’t launch into a tirade about tireless service to the God Emperor or consign twelve-year old Nochtli to a long night without food. Instead, the Aeldari ranger just let out a resigned sigh.

“You’re really not going to budge on this, are you?” she asked. Nochtli shook her head once, displaying resolve, but mostly glad to be saved from her reflexive flashback. Luthiel threw her hands into the air. “Fine. Fine, let’s just go, then.”

Nochtli needed no further encouragement. She all but jumped onto the service ladder, and rapidly ascended the dark elevator shaft. At one point, she looked back to see if Luthiel was actually following her. Illuminated by feeble firelight, she could see that the ranger was doing so, but with drawn out motions, as if exhausted. Nochtli suspected it was rather more deliberate. She resolved not to humor the Aeldari’s arrogance. It was said that the Aeldari loved nothing more than to lord over the “lesser” beings of the galaxy, the better to take delight in their “pitiful” squirming and flailing. It was the least Nochtli could do to deny Luthiel that pleasure. So, she would not react, no matter how much she wanted to.

To that end, she maintained a strict, stone-faced stoicism as they went: back perfectly straight, face as neutral as possible. It was a show, a fact obvious to anyone who paid even a little attention. It was unlikely that Luthiel could even see the seraphim well enough to appreciate the act. Nochtli wasn’t even facing her, anyway. Still, it made her feel better, so she persisted. She persisted all the way to the ruined armory, where she found just enough intact fuel and ammunition to top off her jump-pack and pistols. She persisted as they left and made for the astropathic chamber. As they got closer, the air seemed to grow heavy, laden with some kind of unidentifiable evil that wormed its way into every crevice of Nochtli’s soul. This only soured her mood further. She chided herself for being overeager; she should have been more concerned. Clearly, the astropaths had been compromised somehow, and their connection to the warp was leaking into reality around them. Every bit of her training and instinct screamed to run away as soon as possible. This was the least of what an out of control psyker could do. Still, she could not very well be seen to turn back now. She could only hope that whoever survived could manage to be at all useful before the end. So she pressed on, no matter how oppressively wrong everything around her got.

Then, seemingly well before it should have happened, they had arrived at the astropathic chambers. It was not a reassuring sight. Normally, the chambers would have been sealed off from the rest of the ship by heavy, ritually sealed bulkheads covered in purity seals and other holy wards. Only the highest ranking members of the ship’s crew or the Order could open them. Now, though, they were doors in name only: the crash had torn them partially off their housings, leaving the enormous slabs of metal dangling precariously over the hallway. An opening into the chambers beyond yawned wide, never to be closed again. Here, the disquieting sense upon the air was made physical: a thick miasma wafted out from this opening, draping the immediate surroundings in a dull, bruise-colored haze. Nochtli didn’t bother recoiling. She had noticed the phenomenon far too late to avoid it. She wasn’t dead immediately, so she figured she could survive it long enough to do what needed to be done.

Nochtli swallowed her fear, and stepped inside the chambers.

“Well, this was a giant waste of time,” Luthiel sighed.

Nochtli had a hard time disagreeing. Even more so that the rest of the Chariot, the astropathic chambers were a mess. The crash had driven a colossal spur of metal up through the floor, creating an artificial, and rather destructive, mountain in the center of the already small room. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. Chairs, normally bedecked with psychic aparati and restraints, had been thrown across the room, into cogitator banks and walls, if they remained whole at all. Every single screen had been shattered beyond any hope of repair, covering the floors in a fine mist of glass and wiring. For the first time, there were bodies. Evidently, Species Iota-7409 had no taste for psychic disturbances, either. This had not spared the dead their dignity: few were still in one piece, and all were twisted, broken things, hardly worthy of having once been human. They all bore an array of implants and brands that marked their trade, but in death, these seemed little more than cruel ornaments. Unmoving, they could neither harm nor help the Imperium any longer.

All but one of them, that was.

One man, a junior astropath, yet groaned in pain, trapped in his chair, bound by broken restraints. Though Nochtli had no more love for psykers than any Sister of Battle, she could not help but feel pity for the man: his chair had found itself wedged into a wall, head first, and so left the unfortunate soul dangling a good seven feet off the ground, with nothing but jagged metal below.

Before caution or Luthiel could stop her, Nochtli crossed the distance to the man in a flash. The deck groaned and crunched dangerously underfoot, but it held, or close enough to it. Even in such terrible pain, there was no way the man could miss the sounds of a person in power armor running towards him at full sprint His head turned, the motion slow and tortured. As she got close, Nochtli could see that blood, fresh and dry, spoke of so many wounds that it was hard to tell any apart.

“I-is that one of you, my lady?” the man wheezed. It was clear that it was an extraordinary effort to speak, and one that most likely shortened his remaining life considerably. “I-I’m afraid I can’t tell who you are. Have some of the Sisters survived?”

Like many sanctioned psykers, the soul-binding rituals had burned the man’s eyes to uselessness. A good number of those unfortunates could ‘see’ in a fashion with their abilities, but that was most likely beyond this man at that moment, if he had ever been capable. And it was quite clear that he was the source of the disturbance that permeated the room and corridor beyond.

“I’m Sister Nochtli,” the seraphim said. She spoke quickly, as she searched for the release for the restraints. It was difficult work, in the terrible lighting and wreckage. But more than that, it was painful being near the man. There was a strange, needling pressure growing at the base of Nochtli’s brain, worming its way ever upwards. Every bit of her wanted to run away from the out-of-control psyker as fast as possible. She gritted her teeth, and focused. “As for the rest of the Order...No, I don’t believe so.”

“Oh...I’m so sorry my lady...what happened? I c-couldn’t-”

“Save your breath! I need you strong enough to-” Nochtli paused as she found a release switch, and pulled. With a click, the man fell from the chair. Nochtli only just managed to catch him in her arms. “-to help me.”

Holding him, it was clear that only an Emperor-sent miracle had kept the man alive to this point. Beyond that, really. It seemed more accurate to say that he simply hadn’t realized he was dead yet.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I’ve been trying...trying to send out a message ever since the attack...call for help...but all...the instruments...broken...I’m so sorry, I’ve failed the Emperor.”

The man was fading quickly, far too quickly to do what Nochtli needed him to do.

“No! Don’t give up! You’re still needed,” she barked. She spoke ever faster, feeling the need to get in as many words as she possibly could before it was too late. “Your messages, did any get through?”

“I...couldn’t...”

“Then try again! We need reinforcements, no matter what!”

Nochtli wasn’t entirely sure that the man could hear her at all. But, with painfully slow motions, he reached out a hand. It made it only a couple of feet or so, before he could go no further. But still he clawed uselessly at the air, reaching desperately for something that simply wasn’t there. Nochtli followed the hand’s path, and saw a headset, attached to the chair, bristling with wires and arcane wards. But it was clearly broken, and likely had been for some time. After a moment, the arm dropped, and with it the rest of the man’s body. He collapsed completely, his body going almost entirely limp, forcing Nochtli to fall to a knee to keep from dropping the man.

“F-forgive, Emperor...I couldn’t do what you asked of me...” There was a long pause, and for a moment. Nochtli thought the man had finally expired. But then his wheezing voice broke out once more. “Tell me, my lady...do..you think The Emperor will...still accept me...even though I failed?”

Nochtli’s heart was hammering. She couldn’t think straight. There was no time left to get a message out, and this man was her last chance. All the other astropaths were already dead, and this one would be soon, too. If there was any chance that she could call for reinforcements, it had to happen then and there. She could not afford to let the man get distracted. But she could not shake a different thought. This man had been stuck in the wreckage for over two days, in terrible pain, with no one to explain what was going on. He would have been able to hear the sounds of battle-of slaughter-outside as the scuttlers overwhelmed the survivors. And that wasn’t even considering his ever-fraying connection to the warp. There were things far worse than Species Iota-7409 menacing this man. And yet, he had clearly not given up. Nochtli knew little about the trade of psykers, but dried blood coverever the man's face, temples, and the inputs on the chair. Effort and concentration had etched deep furrows into his face, and sunk his withered eyes further into their sockets. And so the seraphim knew, with absolute certainty, that this man had been trying to send out a message, all on his own, for over two days, non-stop despite all the pain and horror. The idea that The Emperor could possibly disapprove of such a person was ridiculous. How had this man been raised that he might think this was not enough?

“What is your name,” Nochtli asked, her voice slow and quiet.

“Yalen Tai,” the man coughed out.

“Do not worry, Yalen Tai. You have done well. The Emperor will accept you to his side with pride.”

“Oh...thank His...name...”

And then, no more. He was just one more victim of the PDF and their new Drukhari masters. Nochtli set her face hard, clenching her teeth to hold back emotion. It would not do for a Sister of Battle to weep over the loss of any of the Emperor’s servants, but she could not help that. So she sat in silence for a while, fighting against something she couldn’t name. She set the body down as carefully as she could.

“Are we done here?” Luthiel asked, breaking the reverie with sudden force. “The weapon isn’t going to find itself.”

“Seriously?” Nochtli snapped. She jumped to her feet and spun on the Aeldari. At some point, Luthiel had come up behind her, close enough that her unimpressed frown was plain to see. “Do you really think this is the time?”

“Given what my people have to deal with, he should consider himself lucky,” Luthiel said, with barely a glance at Yalen’s body. “And since when did you humans care about each other? I thought you were all about ‘sacrificing yourself for The Emperor,’ or whatever.”

Nochtli began another retort, but her voice caught in her throat. She could not, in good faith, disprove what the ranger had said. And this made her far angrier than anything else. She would let an alien talk speak on her faith. Instead, she stomped forward, pushing roughly past Luthiel.

“We’re going. Now,” she snarled. It was all she could do to make the words come out as anything other than an incoherent growl. 

“Oh, now you’re worried about haste.” Nochtli could hear Luthiel roll her eyes. “I hope this little diversion made you feel better, because it certainly wasn’t helpful.”

Nochtli didn’t try to respond. If she did, all that would come out was violence.  
...  
It was something of a miracle that the two women made it to the cathedrum without further incident. The journey was silent and angry, certainly, but at least neither of them tried to injure each other. What happened once they got there, though, was an entirely different question.

“You cannot be serious,” Luthiel said. Her whole face had stretched wide, disbelief written large in every feature.

“Of course I am,” Nochtli replied, voice level and assured. “Frankly, I’m not sure why you thought I’d ever let an alien in there.”

By absurd luck, the cathedrum was the most intact room the pair had encountered within the Chariot. The tall, arched doors still stood, though its intricate carvings of The Emperor Ascendant had been irreparably marred by countless debris impacts. It was no brighter than the ominous firelight of the rest of the ruins, nor was the corridor around it in any better repair, but even this one thing was stark in contrast to the devastation it seemed to defy. Presently, Nochtli stood before the door, in between it and Luthiel, arms crossed and glaring like a gang enforcer. The Aeldari, for her part, had somehow managed to become more exasperated. It was honestly impressive, given that she was fully encased in her expressionless armor.

“I was hoping you would be logical about one thing. Just one thing,” Luthiel sighed. She tapped her foot against the deck in a show of exaggerated impatience. Whatever alien material her armor was made of produced an odd, hollow sound when it hit the metal.

“This isn’t about logic. It’s about faith, and the spiritual purity of the relics in there.”

“You know, did you ever stop to consider that there’s a reason you people seem to have so much trouble getting anything done?”

Nochtli ignored the petty insult.

“Regardless, you can’t go in there. Me and my sisters all swore an oath to keep our holy relics out of the hands of the enemy at all cost, be they heretic or xenos. You are no exception. Tell me what the weapon is, and I’ll go find it.”

There were a great many things Luthiel could have done in that moment, most of them variations on cursing Nochtli or insulting her. Instead, she waved a languid hand and clicked her tongue, as if she were dismissing a child.

“Fine. Fine. As I said, we are in something of a hurry here.” Luthiel put special emphasis on these words. “So I’m not going to bother arguing something this silly with you. Just go, and do try to be quick about it. The weapon is a sword. You’ll know it because it will be the only well made thing in there.”

Nochtli rolled her eyes dramatically, spun around, and threw the cathedrum doors wide open, as if she couldn’t wait to carry out her mission. Certainly, Luthiel let out a satisfying sigh at her theatrics. In truth, though, Nochtli was more interested in hiding the deep frown that crept across her face. Of course, she still did not believe for a second that there was actually a xenos artifact hidden among the Order’s most sacred relics. But, those tiny, faithless parts of her mind that wondered regardless had assumed that this weapon must be something small, strange, or otherwise innocuous. Something that could be easily missed amongst the centuries of accumulation and dust. But a sword? The Imperium was ever at war: holy weapons were given special veneration and attention. It would be next to impossible for a xenos weapon to pass for Imperial. This did not bode well. Fresh doubt and concern rose in Nochtli’s mind.

But that did not mean she could give up. She had come to the Chariot with a mission, however distasteful, and she would see it through, no matter what. To do otherwise was unthinkable, not after all her Sisters and crew had given their lives for the Emperor. Yalen Tai had been faced with unimaginable horror, confusion, and death, and still he had thrown his mind into the void again and again, on the faintest of hopes, right up until the end. Nochtli could not repay all that with surrender.?

Thankfully, the interior of the cathedrum was also relatively intact. Messy and dark, but the latter was at least easily fixed. Nochtli found a torch that had been torn out of its sconce, and there was plenty of oil to be found spilled across the deck. The torchlight revealed a somber scene: most everything loose in the cathedrum had been thrown across the large room. There had been enough pews within to seat a good half of the ship’s crew, set it neat rows, but now they mostly looked like a pile of firewood. At the far end of the cathedrum was a gilded statue of The Warrior Emperor, sword raised up high, flanked by an assortment of the Order’s greatest saints. Now, the golden titan had toppled, and leaned against the wall of its alcove. Its normally majestic visage was no less impressive, but there was something sad about seeing the statue ruined. What was intact, though, were the host of statis crypts set against the walls. The large, hexagonal cabinets were imposing things, heavily armored in grey steel and wreathed in all manner of strange technologies, not to mention the purity seals and ritual script that had been added after the fact. There were over a dozen of them, like grim-faced observers, so far back in the long hall that they were hard to see even when the cathedrum was well lit. Only a small viewport gave any indication of the contents, but Nochtli knew what was in each by heart. All of the Sisters had. While the Chariot had been in transit, many had come here daily to pay their respects to the long history of their Order. Nochtli was quite sure there was no Aeldari sword in any of the crypts.

She would check, just to be sure. At the very least, Luthiel probably wouldn’t let her hear the end of it if she didn’t.

Her initial sweep turned up nothing, as expected. The relics of the Order of the Twilight Serpent were quite diverse: one crypt contained a centuries old tome of strategic wisdom written down by countless cannonesses. Another held the bones of a saint who had turned the tide of a battle to save their homeworld. There were weapons, too: a consecrated flamer that had almost single-handedly defended an entire habcomplex against a tide of Orks, and a pair of bolt pistols wielded by the Order’s most famous seraphim. Nochtli was particularly proud of those, for obvious reasons. But no sword. Not a powersword or relic blade, much less an Aeldari one. Nochtli sighed, resigned. This had been a waste of time after all. She didn’t know what she expected, really. From the very beginning, she had known far better than to ever trust an Aeldari, certainly not over something so plainly absurd. She couldn’t even be angry at Luthiel, not really. It was Nochtli’s own fault for being so foolish. She could only blame herself for the danger this folly must have put her soul in.  
“Nochtli! Have you found it yet? Because we need to go right now!” Luthiel shouted. The ranger burst into the cathedrum, clearly panicked about something. Nochtli ignored her. Instead, she leaned forward on a pulpit, and closed her eyes in thought. She needed to figure out what her next move was. Getting rid of Luthiel, obviously. She would have to pay for her lies and, more importantly, sending Nochtli on this useless errand. She had known what she should have done, back in the city, and now she was very far away from any of that. She would have to get back to the city, alone, and figure out how to get back to destroying the PDF. She found it hard to think, though, through the anger and self-recrimination. How had she allowed herself to be led down this path. Simple shock and doubt was not an excuse, not for an ordained Sister of Battle. It was an enormous, inexcusable mistake, and an affront to the honor of the Order. The idea that they had been venerating an alien weapon was laughably absurd.

Except, that wasn’t quite true, was it? There was no sword in the stasis crypts, but there had been. A memory arose: during the rituals right before deployment to Alken III, the strike force had gathered in the cathedrum to pray. There, out of the corner of her eye, Nochtli had seen Cannoness Centehua. Without any notice or fanfare, the Cannoness had quietly gone to one of the crypts, retrieved something, and slung it across her back. Nochtli had thought nothing of it at the time, for who was she to question the actions of a cannoness?

But it had been a sword. A sword wrapped entirely in obscuring cloth.

Nochtli felt a hand on her shoulder. Her fingers clenched reflexively, but the sheer fury coursing through her veins kept her steady.

“Nochtli, where’s the damned weapon?” Luthiel asked from directly behind her. Urgency colored her voice, and likely had driven her into the cathedrum. “We’re out of time. I found a place to look outside, and-”

“It’s not here,” Nochtli said quietly. 

“What?” Luthiel asked, in disbelief and despair. Nochtli said nothing. She just pushed past the stunned Aeldari, striding forward at a slow but determined pace. Her fists were gripped tight enough that the ceramite ground against itself. She had succeeded, in a way. Her goal was now clear, but it turned out that clarity did not have to please her. She burst out of the cathedrum, head turning about, searching. She heard Luthiel trying to catch up and shouting after her in confusion and alarm. Before the Aeldari could make it, Nochtli caught the faintest whiff of the outside, acrid and stale. She followed it through ruined hallways and destroyed bulkheads, until she found the opening. With no warning, she was hit with the full force of Alken III’s wilderness, dust, wind, smoke and all. The impact-or defense station fire, it was impossible to tell which-had ripped a huge gash in the side of the Chariot, exposing a great many decks and rooms. And in the seemingly endless expanse of dirty sky, Nochtli saw what Luthiel was so worried about.

Two gunships were speeding towards the wreckage. Presently they were vaguely-shaped specks, but they were growing fast. They had to be valkyries, the ubiquitous aerial transport used by all branches of the Astra Militarum. They were armed generously with an assortment of rockets, bolters, and lascannons. The two craft would be on the wreckage in a matter of minutes. At most.

Luthiel emerged from the corridor behind the seraphim, breathing just a little heavier from the exertion required to navigate the twisting path. This was most likely for show.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s not here?’” Luthiel asked, voice swiftly growing to anger. “Because I really hope you’re not saying that we came all the way out here for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Nochtli replied. Mostly, she was focused on the valkyries. “The sword is with Cannoness Centehua.”

“And where is Cannoness Centehua?”

Nochtli just pointed in the general direction of the city. Luthiel spat out one of those Aeldari curses, very loudly.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” she continued. “Just absolutely wonderful.”

“Well, what now?” Nochtli asked, only half sarcastic. The valkyries had grown large enough that their wide, blocky wingspan was clearly visible. “You’ve been the one with all the plans. What’s next?”

“Nothing. Nothing is next,” Luthiel snapped. With a huff, she dropped to sit on the broken deck, legs dangling off the side. “This was already a desperate gamble. We failed. Now we have no other moves. We have no idea where your Cannoness is. Dead, certainly, and the sword is probably already in the hands of the Drukhari. So, that’s that.”

“You’re just going to give up?” Nochtli asked.

“I’m being a realist,” Luthiel sighed. She pulled her helmet off, letting her sapphire hair fall free. “All we have left is hope, and this galaxy isn’t kind to hope.”

“No,” Nochtli said, firmly.

“No? What do you mean, no? What do you care? I distinctly recall you saying you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Well, too bad. I changed my mind.” Nochtli spoke calmly, as if absolutely nothing was strange about anything. The whine of the valkyries’ engines started to fill the air. “It turns out I just decided that I don’t much like the idea of people quitting when there’s still stuff to do.”

Nochtli crouched down so that she looked Luthiel directly in the eyes.

“So, considering that we’re going to continue looking for that damned sword-and we are-I’m going to personally make sure that you keep going, no matter what.”

“Really now,” Luthiel said. She stared back, hard. “And what do you intend to do about it?”

For a few short moments, the two women just stared at each other silently, as if they could change each other’s mind through sheer force of will. By now, the full profile of the valkyries was visible. Long, pointed fuselages, stubby wings, and long twin-tailed superstructure with engines atop. Each bore an array of rocket pods and lascannons. The scream of their engines rattled loose pieces of wreckage. There was a matter of seconds before the gunships were literally on top of the ruins. They were slowing down in preparation for landing. Nochtli had a single chance to act.

“This.”

With no further fanfare, Nochtli grabbed Luthiel by the wrist and fell backwards off the wreckage, pulling Luthiel with her. The Aeldari shouted in alarm, but had no chance to react. Nochtli yanked the ranger in close, pressing her close against the ceramite. She twisted around, and fired the jump-pack for all it had. They shot forward on a plume of fire, streaking down towards the crater. The force crushed Luthiel, and her curses, even further into the seraphim’s chest. The valkyries suddenly accelerated, speeding over the Chariot and pulling around into a wide turn.

Nochtli hit the ground as well as she could-which was not very well-and all-but threw Luthiel forward. The ranger began to say something terribly impolite about Nochtli parentage, but the seraphim was already sprinting as fast as her power armor-augmented strength would allow. If Luthiel had any doubts about following, they were swiftly rendered irrelevant by two bright-blue lascannon beams slamming into the ruins around her. The unimaginably intense energy blew the sections of ship into so much shrapnel in an instant.

And then the two women were running. The jetbikes were just at the edge of the crater. Close. Seemingly so close. Nochtli, and likely Luthiel, could cover the distance in a matter of seconds. But with two gunships bearing down on them, that distance felt a good deal longer. Nochtli was forced to duck and cover her head as a flurry of rockets ripped apart the ground in front of her with a series of ear-ringing booms and sprayed her with dirt, rock, and Scuttler bits. The valkyries shrieked by overhead, bathing the women in the eye-watering heat of their backwash. Neither Nochtli nor Luthiel said anything. There was no need. Either they reached the bikes in time, or they did not.

The valkyries reached the edge of the crater. One dropped into a low hover, spinning around to face it’s prey. So close, it was a monster of metal and fire, its teeth glowing with the heat of discharge. The lascannons fired.

In the same moment, Nochtli dove for the closest jetbike. The beams turned the air above her into searing death. Two explosions shook the ground behind. The Battle Sister practically fell into the jetbike’s saddle. She slammed the activation rune, and as the machine hummed to life, she pressed what she hoped was the underslung weapon’s trigger. With little more than a sharp whisper, a series of projectiles wreathed in energy lashed out from underneath the bike. It was unclear if they could even harm the valkyrie, but the pilot took no chances. The gunship jinked sharply away, the cumbersome motion sending it well out of Nochtli’s path. She took the moment without a second thought. She hit the acceleration as hard as she could, and the jetbike shot forward, past the valkyrie. The faint sound of the other jetbikes engine suggested Luthiel was not far behind. Nochtli couldn’t spare the moment to look.

If nothing else, the Aeldari built their vehicles fast, far faster than the Imperium’s ponderous aircraft. By the time either valkyrie got them back in sigh, the bikes were little more than tiny missiles zipping back towards the city.  
...  
The city was just as deathly silent as they had left it. After the encounter with the jetbikes, Nochtli had assumed the PDF would be out in force. She suspected they wouldn’t even make it to the wall before the myriad defense batteries blew the flimsy bikes to pieces. But nothing of the sort happened. The wall remained inert.

They were forced to take the path that Luthiel and her comrades had first taken up the wall. It was a laborious, deeply uncomfortable trip: up abandoned service corridors, through broken barricades, and slinking through other forgotten parts of the city’s underbelly. But they managed the journey entirely unmolested. No challenges, no patrolling soldiers, no sounds of sudden gunfire. It was as if the PDF had no interest in finding them. Eventually, they emerged topside once more. Not too far from where they had left, if Nochtli judged correctly. The cityscape was still, empty, and silent. If it wasn’t so deeply disturbing, it might have been peaceful.

Then Luthiel drew her rifle, alien reflexes moving so fast it was a blur. Before Nochtli could blink, the ranger had drawn a bead on her target. The seraphim cursed. She hadn’t even known anything was wrong.

But then she laughed, and pushed Luthiel’s rifle down. There was no danger after all. At the end of an alley was a servitor, a fusion of human cadaver and machine. It was a service model, little more than a body kept moving by a spirderweb of heavy augmentation. It could fulfill only the simplest of tasks. Presently, that seemed to be slowly scanning its surroundings with a glowing red eye lens. Such a thing didn’t pose a threat to the lowliest warrior. It wasn’t worth the noise Luthiel’s rifle would make.

And yet it didn’t ignore them. By chance, its head turned to face them, and the beams emitted by its eye fell over the women. It paused immediately, and then started to trundle towards them on the treads that made up the majority of its lower body. It didn’t seem to have any sort of weapon or bomb, and so the women didn’t immediately spring to action as it approached. It jerked to a halt a few yards away, and then spoke a recorded message out of a mouth-grille.

“Greetings, Sister Nochtli of the Order of the Twilight Serpent, and Ranger Luthiel of Craftworld Biel-tan. You are humbly invited to a ball at Lord-Governor Ascellus’s palace tomorrow evening. Formal wear is required.”


	4. Dances and Newcomers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticking to what seems like a once-a-month schedule, here's a new thing. Hopefully events are picking up here.

Alken III was not a prosperous, or even especially noteworthy, world. Countless other planets in the Imperium commanded and produced far more resources, played host to vast trading hubs or sector commands, or were watched over by the great fortress-monasteries of the Adeptus Astartes. Such worlds were true jewels of the Imperium, possessed of vast wealth and mighty defenses. They teemed with untold billions of human souls, all working towards the greater glory of the Emperor’s realm. There was a certain grandeur to everything on those worlds, even the lowliest hovel, their very presence amplified by the great work they were a part of. As for the more opulent structures, it was not for nothing that the residences of planetary governors were called palaces. By contrast, everything Nochtli had seen that was native to Alken III had a certain run-down aura to it, as if nothing on the planet had ever been new or in good repair. It only accentuated the truth of how irrelevant to the greater Imperium Alken III was. It would never be important, it’s people would never matter.

Looking at Lord-Governor Ascellus’s palace, one might be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Nochtli supposed there was a level of dignity to which all Imperial governors were entitled, but this building was absurd. There was no other way to describe it, the seraphim decided. It was a vast, towering complex that more resembled some keep on a feudal world than the center of an entire planet’s administration. It seemed to be made entirely of crenellated towers and bleak, black stone. Just the one side that Nochtli could see was covered in enormous reliefs of the Emperor in battle, and other local saints that Nochtli didn’t know. A processional road led up to the gates, which were a small complex unto themselves, flanked by yet more statues. All told, the palace took up the entire center of the city, enough space for who knew how many hab-blocks or manufactorums. As it was night, the whole thing was lit up by huge floodlights, giving it a grim, ominous aspect  
.  
But that was not the strangest, nor most unnerving thing about the scene. No, that honor went to the fact that, for the first time, they saw other people. Not just PDF soldiers, but actual, proper inhabitants of Alken III. The gates of the palace had been thrown wide open to admit a long stream of people, so many that Nochtli and Luthiel had been forced to hide a ways back to avoid being spotted. The people in question could only have been the assembled nobility and well-to-do of Alkenn III, all dressed in enormously opulent clothes and covered in fabulously wealthy jewelry and other accessories. Nochtli had no idea where they could possibly have been hiding all this time, but on they came, at least a hundred of them so far, with no signs of stopping. What was truly strange, though, was the fact that this procession advanced without the slightest sound. Nochtli assumed such nobles should have been engaged in all manner of inane gossip and maneuvering, but none of the crowd said a word. They only moved inexorably towards the palace, not even looking at each other. Also absent was the cloud of hangers-on and attendants that should have accompanied them. Thus, long dresses trailed scandalously along the ground, and shoes that should never have touched stone clacked along awkwardly. As far as Nochtli was concerned, nothing good could possibly come of all of this. And yet, here they were.

“So, what’s the plan?” Luthiel asked. “You were the one who was so eager to come here.”

“We sneak in,” Nochtli replied, deliberately avoiding the bait. “And see what there is to see.”

“We were invited. They’ll be looking for us.”

“Fine, then we walk in the front door,” Nochtli said. “I’m sure that’ll go great.”

“I also recall that the servitor said formal dress was required. I hardly think either of us fit that description.”

“What are you talking about?” Nochtli turned around, raising an eyebrow in genuine confusion. “A Battle Sister’s armor is her formal wear. It is what we wear in our service to the Emperor, so of course it is how we present ourselves. Any proper noble would understand that.”

“Be that as it may, I sincerely doubt those soldiers are going to be too happy about letting an enemy into the palace fully armed and armored,” Luthiel said, gesturing to the gates.

Nochtli frowned. Indeed, there were two full squads of PDF troopers at the gates alone, and there would likely be more inside. The soldiers stood silent and vigilant, their vacant eyes scanning the surroundings tirelessly. While most had lasguns, a few bore heavier weapons. Attack, or any kind of trouble, was entirely out of the question.

“What are we supposed to do, then?”

“Do what our would-be host asked, I suppose.”

“Terribly sorry, but I seem to have left my fancy dress on the drop ship,” Nochtli said, deadpan. “It blew up, you see.”

“Then we figure something out. Improvise.” Luthiel rolled her eyes. “Are all humans this obstinate?”

Nochtli didn’t respond. Instead, she held out a hand to silence the Aeldari. Luthiel balked at the gesture, but kept quiet. She looked to see what had so alarmed the seraphim.

Nochtli allowed herself a small smile. It seemed the Emperor had been kind to her, for down the alley in which they hid walked two noblewomen. They had the same vacant, half-aware expressions all the others had; it was unclear if they were actually taking in the world around them. There was nothing especially notable about them otherwise, safe for a few things: they were headed towards the seraphim and ranger, they were alone, and they were wearing dresses roughly the two warriors’ size.

...

Getting into the party had been shockingly easy. Nochtli had expected that the guards would have to raise some sort of fuss. If nothing else, the two of them were obviously more aware and alert than the glassy-eyed nobles. Nochtli could not imagine a world in which they were just let in without an issue. Except, it seemed she did live in such a world, for she and Luthiel were able to walk straight through the gates without a hint of incident. It wasn’t an accident, either: the PDF trooper clearly took notice of them, but they seemed to warrant nothing more than a few momentary glances. It seemed they truly were invited.

Nochtli had to admit that their newfound outfits must have played a part in getting admitted. Left to her own devices, Nochtli would have just thrown on the dress, possibly over her armor, and left it at that. But Luthiel had evidently found this unacceptable. From almost the moment they had knocked out the unfortunate noblewomen, the aeldari had set to work getting herself and the Battle Sister into an ‘acceptable state.’ There were precious few tools at hand, but Nochtli could not deny that Luthiel had done her work well. She had put Nochtli into a long, thin dress, its dark color matching Nochtli’s brown skin as well as could be hoped for. There wasn’t much to do with Nochtli’s short obsidian hair, but Luthiel had managed to cobble together a few small accessories to make it work. Luthiel herself was in a relatively more elaborate outfit: a wavy dress with flowing sleeves, gold-threaded gloves, and something that looked distressingly like a tiara. The aeldari had pinned her sapphire hair up and out of the way. The fashion of Imperial nobility was rarely tasteful, but Luthiel had made the best of it. If there was anyone who had cared or was able to notice, the pair would have made quite the sight. So much so, in fact, that Nochtli found Luthiel strangely...distracting to look at. Perhaps her sharp, alien features did not have to be so disturbing, if accented properly.

Nochtli shook her head clear. There were rather more pressing matters at hand. More soldiers filled the edges of the courtyard leading up to the palace proper. Worse still, there were two chimeras-armored personnel carriers-idling on the sides of the sides of the avenue. Though their big turrets were not pointed at anything in particular, the threat was implicit and well received. Nochtli swallowed the beginnings of fear. For the first time, she considered that the soldiers might not be intended to keep people out, but in. Luthiel was making a show of keeping her gaze locked stoically forward, but even Nochtli could see her eyes darting back and forth.

It was hard not to feel vulnerable. Their armor and remaining weapons had been left stashed away in the alley, behind the unconscious noblewomen. Nochtli had been loath to part with any of her blessed wargear, but there was no way most of it would get past the guards, let alone Luthiel's large rifle. Each woman was armed with nothing more than a single pistol apiece, under their dresses. It was poor comfort.

But there was no use bemoaning the danger. All they could do was keep moving forward, and hope they had not made a terrible mistake.

If they were walking into a trap, and their enemies intended to turn on them without warning, then they were certainly talking their time. The PDF undoubtedly saw and watched the two women, but otherwise did nothing. Not one of them made a move to stop the women or block their path. It was almost enough to fool Nochtli into thinking the PDF were nothing more than the normal guards afforded to any planetary governor. One look at their blank eyes was enough to put that thought to rest, though. Something would happen, Nochtli was certain. It was just a matter of when, and where.

However wary or jaded the women might have been, entering the palace’s ballroom was enough to stop them both in their tracks with undisguised awe. Nochtli knew that the well-to-do of the Imperium lived on a different scale than the rest of the populace, but she had no idea just how different until that moment. The ballroom was massive. That was the only word for it. It seemed to stretch on forever in every direction, to walls covered in gaudy paintings and a vaulted ceiling who’s apex was yet shrouded in shadow. Multi-tiered chandeliers gleamed with synthetic gemstones, and bathed the room in an unnecessary amount of radiance. A grand balcony dominated the far side of the ballroom, with stairs of immaculately-polished marble flowing down from tall double doors that no doubt lead further into the palace. Though the ballroom served no practical purpose, it was twice as large as the Order of the Twilight Serpent’s cathedrum. And the Adepta Soroitas took their places of worship seriously. Idly, Nochtli wondered how many resources had been poured into making this place, and not the endless war effort to which the Imperium was supposedly devoted.

And then there was the people. Almost two hundred of them milling about, all covered in robes, dresses, jewelry, and augmetics of a level that made Nochtli and Luthiel look like uncultured peasants. The combined smell of their no doubt impossibly expensive perfume made Nochtli’s nose twitch. Between these people trundled servitors that bore trays piled high with food-real meat and fruit-and other such luxuries that the assembled nobles regard with haughty indifference. 

“Well, you mon’keigh certainly know how to take care of yourselves,” Luthiel said. Like Nochtli, the aeldari was yet unable to do anything other than stand and stare at it all. Nochtli had a hard time thinking of any response that would be at all meaningful.

“So...what now?” Nochtli asked, in a desperate attempt to regain control of herself.

“Find something useful, hopefully,” Luthiel replied, as she walked further into the party proper. Nochtli followed dutifully, but in truth had little idea how they would do that. No matter how ostentatious or or crowded, the party so far looked like just that: a party. The nobles were unnaturally subdued, not seeming to talk or move very much at all, but there was no sign of Drukhari or other sinister activity. Not even the PDF were present. Nochtli wouldn’t know what to do at a party in the best of times. This was something else entirely.

As she observed and thought, Nochtli picked a small tart off the tray of a passing servitor and took a bite. It was a subconscious act, but she was immediately hit by a burst of fruity flavor unlike anything she had experienced. Battle Sisters typically lived spartan lives. Good food was an unnecessary luxury.

“What are you doing?” Luthiel asked, horrified.

“What’s the matter? It’s just food.” Nochtli responded, and took another bite. She pointed at the nobles. “They’re all eating it.”

“And what if that food is what’s making the people of this planet docile?”

Nochtli frowned. She hadn’t considered that. She put the half-eaten tart back on a passing tray.

“The Emperor would have protected me.”

“I’m sure he would,” Luthiel snorted.

There was no time for further debate. The whole time, there had been a small group of musicians playing atmospheric music. Though electronically amplified, the sound seemed perfectly tuned to be inofensive and below full notice. All at once, though, it swelled to renewed energy, sending a flowing rhythm throughout the ballroom. As if compelled by an unseen signal, all the nobles snapped into motion. As one, they moved into the center of the ballroom and broke into innumerable pairs and began spinning in dance. It should have been an elegant sight, a testament to grace and refinement, but the nobles’ movements seemed...off. Like they were artificial. Like they were puppets with strings pulled by an inexpert master. Still they turned and turned, as if they could do nothing else. Nochtli watched with a mixture of fascination and horror.

“Well, we had probably better get in there,” Luthiel said.

“What? Where?” Nochtli asked, sure she had missed something.

“The dance floor,” Luthiel replied, gesturing towards the mass of nobles. “We’re the only people in the room who aren’t, and we don’t want to stand out.”

Nochtli’s mouth fell open. Indeed, the two of them were the only non-servitors left standing on the edges of the room, painfully conspicuous. But what the Aeldari was saying was...

“Luthiel, I can’t dance,” she said, horrified. “I was trained for the battlefield, not...this.”

“We’re two reasonably clever women. We can figure something out,” Luthiel said. She didn’t give Nochtli a chance to argue. Instead, she just grabbed the Battle Sister by the wrist, and pulled. Unprepared and wrongfooted, Nochtli had no chance of resisting.

Before she knew it, Nochtli found herself standing on the edge of the dancefloor, amidst the spinning nobles. Her heart pounded with childish anxiety. She felt like a novice trembling before the Cannoness for the first time. Then Luthiel grabbed both her hands-one outstretched, the other held close-and they were moving. They were a terribly awkward sight: it was all Nochtli could do to keep from tripping over herself, or her feet from bumping into Luthiel’s own. It felt like her limbs were trailing miles behind her thoughts, or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, she was a mess. It was only made worse by the fact that she was a good bit taller than Luthiel, and the Aeldari was the only one taking any initiative and trying to lead. And, for all of Luthiel’s alien grace, it seemed this was something a little beyond even her capabilities. Still, the two of them eventually managed to fall into a sort of rhythm. It was slow, stilted, and nothing to do with the music, but it was stable.

“Why are you going so far?” Nochtli asked.

“What are you on about,” Luthiel responded, icey.

“Back in the ship, you were ready to give up on all of this. But now you’re dressing us up and teaching me how to dance. That’s a lot of extra effort for someone who doesn’t think we can do this. What changed?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to stay alive,” Luthiel said. She did not sound pleased to be discussing the issue. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Nochtli chuckled humorlessly. “I appreciate it. I’m just surprised. I thought all Aeldari were supposed to be arrogant and stubborn, but I much prefer you willing to help.”

“Just drop it,” Luthiel said, glancing away. Her cheeks reddened with shame or embarrassment. Nochtli rolled her eyes, but didn’t press the other woman. Instead, they danced in pointed silence, turning and turning until, without either noticing, the world around them had shrunken to just the little space around them. There were no nobles, no music, not even the ballroom. All they knew were each other. Soon, even that dim awareness narrowed, as their eyes by chance locked, and Nochtli’s whole world became those sapphire orbs. They were wells, deeper than anything Nochtli had ever known. Time passed, she didn’t know how much. It didn’t matter. Nochtli was barely aware of her own body. She had no idea what was happening, but she could do nothing to stop it.

WIthout any warning, the sound of a bell pierced the reverie. The two women were jerked painfully back to reality, stumbling to a stop, barely keeping from falling. They turned to find the sound. All the other nobles-and the music-has stopped, and turned to look up at the balcony. There stood an old, withered man, dressed as a servant, holding a large bell. Behind him, the double doors had been thrown open. The Lord-Governor’s majordomo, Nochtli supposed. The attention of the ballroom gained, the man stepped aside, letting whoever was behind him move forward. Nochtli swallowed her anticipation. The Lord-Governor already had much to answer for, but she also desperately wanted to know more about what was going on.

But the person who came through the doors onto the balcony was not Lord-Governor Ascellus. Nochtli’s stomach dropped in horror, and even Luthiel’s expression darkened openly.

Nochtli had never seen a Drukhari before. She had gotten briefings, and read Xenos Biologis reports. She had even seen a few old pic-captures of the alien raiders. All that she knew of the aliens came second hand, from sources that themselves knew very little. For most of her life, that had been enough. All members of the Adepta Sororitas learned to hate the alien without question; it did particularly matter if one breed of xenos was somehow more vile than the others. They were depraved, piratical raiders. What else did she truly need to know?

Now, though, she was hit with the full, stark truth of just how foolish she had been. The man that appeared on the balcony was no simple xenos to be dismissed as just another enemy. He was tall, taller even than Nochtli, and wore a suit of ornate, spiked armor, of a green so dark it was almost black. His head was exposed, every feature wrought in impossibly pale skin and jagged angles, finished with a topknot of jet-black hair. A cape trailed off his back, and Nochtli did not think it was made of leather. At his waist were a sword and pistol of wicked design. The moment he came into view, Nochtli had a single, inescapable thought: this man was cruelty and pain incarnate. He strode to the edge of the balcony with purpose, and spread out his arms.

“Friends, welcome!” he bellowed, his unaugmented voice easily carrying over the entire ballroom. Despite herself, Nochtli shivered. The drukhari’s every step, every gesture, every word dripped with the unchallenged arrogance of an apex predator. “I am pleased to see that you are all so enjoying my generosity. By all means, do continue! Eat, drink, and be merry! Our great work continues apace, and so it is only proper that we should rejoice!”

The assembled nobles, who at first had done nothing but watch with rapt attention, suddenly burst out in wild applause at the drukhari’s words. Hatred swelled in Nochtli’s breast. Only then did she realise the true atrocity of what had been committed here. The nobles looked up at the Drukhari with blank, mindless focus, their eyes milky. A few of them even had little rivers of drool running out of their mouths. But they were not unaware, nor were they deceived. There was a clear spark of understanding, even from the way they moved, that told Nochtli each and every one of them was compromised beyond redemption. No, it was far worse than that, Nochtli decided. The nobles of Alken III, supposedly among the Imperium’s wealthy and powerful, were now little more than the drukhari’s pets.

Instinctively, her hand shot to her concealed bolt pistol. There was a reckoning to be had, and it could wait no longer. But then Luthiel’s own hand stopped her. At first, Nochtli wanted to lash out in rage at the aeldari’s presumption, but then she saw the reason why, and she was glad for Luthiel’s caution. From the double doors emerged the drukhari’s honor guard, composed of four figures in suits of the same dark-green armor, though they had large vanes protruding from their backs, and wore horned helmets of stark white. Each held a huge, flat blade nearly as large as themselves with perfect poise. In the middle of these guards was a drukhari woman in what looked like a twisted parody of a ballgown, though it was accented by a few discrete pieces of armor. Her amber hair was done up in an absurdly elaborate bun, pinned with bone. Her pointed face bore an easy, cruel smile.

“What do we do now,” Nochtli hissed to Luthiel.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Luthiel said. Nochtli realized that for all the aeldari’s usual poise, the woman’s whole body was trembling with naked terror.

“Ah, but I have been terribly rude,” the lead drukhari continued. He slowly turned his head, taking in the entire ballroom. “We have guests, newcomers to our lovely little world. All of you, please welcome them as you would a friend.”

With no further fanfare, he gestured directly at Nochtli and Luthiel. Both women froze in place. The drukhari was looking straight at them, there was no doubt. As one, the nobles turned to face them as well, and gave a patter of welcoming applause.

Nochtli ran. She was not ashamed to admit it. Even the Adepta Sororitas knew that there were some battles better left unfought, if only to return with proper force, and every inch of Nochtli’s body screamed that this was a foe she could not best. She grabbed Luthiel’s wrist, spun around, and ran with all her might.

Her flight lasted only a few seconds, for suddenly the ballroom was ringed with more drukhari, these in simple armor, and carrying spiked and bladed rifles, but no less imposing. They stood still in a line against the entire length of the ballroom, blocking any possible exit. They didn’t lift a finger to stop Nochtli, but they didn’t have to. Nochtli skidded to a halt.

“No need to be shy,” the lead drukhari said, distance no impediment to his voice. “I would very much like to meet you two, and give you a tour of this fine palace. As honored guests, it is the least I can do for you.”

They had no choice but to comply. Nochtli knew this in the very core of her being. The only other option was to die, and the drukhari did not let their victims die easily.

Even so, she looked to Luthiel, just to make sure. At very least, the aeldari wasn’t hiding her fear and resignation, either. Luthiel gave a single, shaking nod. There was trust in that gesture, trust that the two of them would keep each other safe, and get out of this trap safe and sound. But there was also doubt. Far too much doubt.

And so the two women walked back to the base of the balcony, and up the stairs. With each step, it felt more and more like they led to the gallows. Nochtli did not miss that the drukhari warriors filed in behind them, blocking off any feeble chance of escape.

At long, torturous last they reached the balcony. There stood the lead drukhari and his attendants, waiting with patience for prey he knew must come.

“Greetings, Sister Nochtli and Ranger Luthiel. I am Archon Kephesh Nul of the Kabal of the Black Heart,” he said with a formal bow. He gestured to the woman amidst his guards. “This is Vesh’sai Venomweaver, my personal Lhamaean. Welcome to my palace.”

“What do you want?” Nochtli snarled. She may not have been able to fight, but that didn’t mean she had to go quietly. She took a single step forward, for emphasis.

In a flash, one of the guards was between Nochtli and Kepesh Nul, every muscle tensed and ready to strike. Nochtli had no doubt that the huge blade could move with terrifying speed. She stopped cold.

“No need for that,” Kepesh said, holding up a hand. “You’ll have to forgive my incubi. They’re spectacularly effective killers, but often a little too...overeager.”

The incubi slipped back into place behind the archon. Throughout it all, they hadn’t said a word, hadn’t projected a shred of emotion through that skull-white helm.

“To answer your question, I believe I already said that I wished to give you two a tour of my palace. I think there is quite a bit that you would find of interest,” Kepesh said. “I do hope we can carry on without further incident.”

Nochtli glared daggers at the drukhari, but did or said nothing else. She had no real option.

“Good!” Kepesh clapped his hands together and turned to leave back through the doors. “Oh, I almost forgot: how are you, cousin? I trust the Craftworlds are as dull and tedious as ever?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Luthiel snapped. “How do you know our names?”

“So many questions,” Kepesh chuckled. A smirk spread across his face, exposing a few jagged teeth. “It’s nothing complicated. You two aren’t the first guests we’ve had.”

With that, Kepesh strode through the doors, swiftly followed by the incubi and Vesh’sai. The instant he left the room, the nobles returned to their vacuous partying as if nothing had happened. That was the last Nochtli saw of them, for the kabalite warriors made it clear through motion alone that Nochtli and Luthiel were supposed to go through the doors. They had no choice but to comply.

“What did you do to them?” Nochtli demanded.

“Oh, those little things? Now that’s Vesh’sai’s work,” Kepesh said. There was real pride in his voice. “It’s a brilliant concoction; honestly, I’m lucky to have her. It renders its victims perfectly docile and suggestible, but leaves them capable of action. It’s proven quite effective, don’t you think? Gave me such delightful pets.”

Nochtli swallowed her fear, Luthiel’s warning about that tart suddenly fresh in her mind.

“Don’t worry, little human, we don’t plan to use it on you,” Vesh’sai chuckled. The Lhamaean’s voice was pure ice.

“No, no, of course not. I apologize if I worried you,” Kepesh agreed. “There’s a lot I want to speak with you about, and I’d prefer if you were capable of independent thought.”

That was the last anyone said for a long while. Kepesh and Vesh’sai led them down countless hallways, twisting down them without pause or trouble, as if they owned the place. Those hallways were filled with numerous and diverse pieces of artworks but devoid of all other life. And yet, the hallways did not seem neglected or left to dust. If anything, Nochtli wondered if they were better maintained than they had been under the care of Lord Governor Acellus.

The silence was oppressive. More than that, it was the fact that the drukhari were ignoring the two women. Every so often, Kepesh stopped, as if to contemplate one of the pieces of art set against the wall. Before long he would move on, without a hint of why. He barely acknowledged the presence of his two prisoners. He certainly didn’t say anything. As the other drukhari followed his lead completely, none of them acted any differently. After a few minutes of this treatment, Nochtli wanted nothing more than for someone to do something, if only so that she could know what infernal plans the xenos had for her.

She busied herself by trying to keep track of the hallways they walked through, trying to form a mental map by the distinct works of art alone. She had never been one for details, and she had set herself a tremendously difficult task, given the dizzying variety of works on display. It was likely futile, she knew: even if she could form a perfect path for escape in her mind, that assumed they would ever get a chance to escape. Still, the act kept hope and faith alive, so she persisted.

The silence was at last broken when Luthiel gasped quietly in pain. Nochtli’s head snapped around to find the Aeldari clutching one temple, her teeth gritted.

“What’s wrong,” Nochtli asked, alarmed.

“That hum,” Luthiel hissed, as if it were obvious. Nochtli frowned. There was no hum she was aware of, painful or otherwise.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. She had no time for Aeldari weirdness.

“How can you not feel it? It’s like the air is buzzing?” Luthiel insisted. Nochtli had no idea what to say. If the drukhari noticed this hum, or even Luthiel’s pain, they weren’t showing it. There was absolutely no hint of what Luthiel could be talking about. But, there was no denying she was in pain.

And if there was something, then it was almost certainly not good. But there was nothing to be done.. As far as she could tell, the only thing wrong with the air was that she was sharing it with far too many xenos.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Nochtli asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Luthiel said. She straightened herself, and let her hand fall back to her side. She gave off a reasonable impression of not being in pain. Nochtli supposed that was all she could do.

The drukhari were paying the supposed hum no mind. Indeed, they weren’t paying much attention to the women at all.

“Some tour this is,” Nochtli snapped, largely to be difficult.

“Ah, but this isn’t what I wanted to show you,” Kepesh said. He gestured vaguely at the artwork lining the walls. “These are nothing more than amusing trinkets. Pretty, even, but not important. No, our destination is far more interesting. And as luck would have it, we’re quite close.”

Kepesh said nothing more. Evidently, he preferred to keep his prey in suspense.

A minute later, they arrived. By all appearances, it was a door just like all the others in the palace: small, white, and tastelessly trimmed in gold. But one look at it was all Nochtli needed to know-with utter, terrible certainty-that there was something truly dreadful beyond. It was a feeling that burst out of her gut like stabbing ice, hooking into every fiber of her being. Her legs locked in place. More than anything, she did not want to see what was on the other side of that door. It was the only thing she could think, the only thing she was aware of. But the drukahri weren’t giving her a choice. Already, one of the incubi had opened the door for their master, and the kabalite warriors were prodding Nochtli and Luthiel. And so Nochtli pressed her fear down, silently asked The Emperor for strength, and walked.

Once inside, Kepesh dismissed half the kabalites with a wave. The remainder were more than enough to keep an eye on the prisoners, for the room beyond the door was not large at all. It was a small viewing gallery, barely large enough for the remaining drukhari and their captives to stand comfortably. It was purpose-built, well lit by lumen-strips and with an entire wall replaced by a window angled to look down upon a much bigger room. And when Nochtli saw what was in that room, it was all she could do to keep the contents of her stomach down.

It was a massive laboratory, stretching far further than the ballroom had. No, that wasn’t the right word, Nochtli decided. She had seen laboratories before, run by xenos-biologus, tech-priests, and more: while she was never one for sciences, she respected the ceaseless, diligent work that was done in places such as those, and the vital role it played in support of the Imperium. Those researchers were not warriors, but their purposes were no less noble. This was not a repository of knowledge, nor a theater for the tireless pursuit thereof. It was a nightmare made manifest.

“Now, it is my haemonculi that I’m most proud of,” Kepesh said. “I must admit, I was skeptical when they first came to me and promised that they could use this world to give me a legion, but even I can see that the flesh-carvers have outdone themselves. Who else would have thought of converting an entire planet’s population into wracks?”

A full half of the room was stuffed with people. Thousands of them. At long last, there was the populace of the city, all pressed up against each other so tightly they looked like bundles packed for transport. They were covered by a thick, white mist of some kind-Vesh’sai’s ‘concoction,’ likely-that kept the utterly immobile and seemingly insensate. It was nothing more than a storeroom, full of product to be retrieved as needed. What that product was needed for could be seen in the other half of the room. There were dozens of tables arranged in a neat grid, each with an array of impossibly cruel surgical tools suspended above. On each and every table was laid out...calling them people was wrong. They were masses of limbs and bone and muscle and flesh, taken apart and stitched together in profane combinations. There was more than flesh: guns and blades and spikes had been woven into arms and torsos. Figures that could only loosely be called drukhari-many had extra arms and other, far less palatable additions-hunched over many of the tables, manipulating their subjects with sickening dexterity. The masses made...noises...as the haemonculi worked. They were attended by completed abominations, hulking brutes that wore blank, black helms and carried all manner of implements and weapons with their grotesque slabs of muscle. As Nochtli watched, one of the haemonculi finished. Immediately, two of the abominations grabbed the one on the table and pulled it off, dragging it away to parts unknown. Even before they had disappeared, the haemonculi was gesturing towards the pen for more subjects.

“Admittedly, we don’t actually have the entire populace under our control yet, but we’re working on that,” Kepesh said. He spoke casually, as if they were watching the most banal scene imaginable.

Every single bit of Nochtli’s being wanted to run, to be as far from this place as she possibly could. But she could move a muscle, could look even and inch away. All she could do was stand and look with wide-eyed horror. The existence of drukhari on any Imperial world was already inexcusable, a reason to descend upon the xenos with fire and fury. But this...this was something else, something Nochtli didn’t even know how to process. Pure, righteous hatred flared in her breast. If she had been set on destroying the drukhari before, now it was a white-hot purpose that consumed her utterly.

“Why...why are you showing us this,” Nochtli snarled. It helped to speak.

“For perspective, of course,” Kepesh laughed. “You humans’ minds are so little. It’s not your fault for being so lesser, but you do so have trouble comprehending the actions of your betters. I need you to understand the scale of the designs which I lay upon the galaxy. I am a conqueror, the lord of raiders, an avatar of fear for all who live! Whatever goal you have, whatever little schemes you’ve made, they are tiny, unimportant...simple. I am showing you this in the hopes that you might understand your place going forward. I have so much I wish to ask you.”

“You don’t have the sword yet, do you?”

“Oh good, you know that much,” the archon said without missing a beat. “That makes things easier. Now, where is it? You know your comrades have it. I know your comrades have it. Let’s not waste any time, shall we?”

Nochtli screwed her mouth shut. She didn’t have to try not to talk. If the drukhari had expected this display to frighten her into talking, he had sorely underestimated the faith and bravery of a Battle Sister. She would not say a word to betray her sisters, no matter the personal consequences for her. Her only response was to give Kepesh her best, most steadfast glare. The archon sighed.

“I’ll save us some time: I’m guessing this is the part where you say ‘do your worst, I’ll never talk,’” Kepesh said, throwing his voice into a sorry imitation of a pleading, femimine wail. “Here’s the thing, I don’t actually need you to talk. I’m just trying to give you a chance to do this the easy way. See, my people have had a very, very long time to perfect the art of torture and interrogation. So much that we can drag information out of our victims whether they’re willing or not. Even right out of that little brain of yours.”

As punctuation, Kepesh leaned forward and tapped Nochtli on the forehead with one finger. As his gauntlets were clawed, it was only a light touch, but that only made it feel more patronizing and demeaning. Nochtli flinched away. Just that one touch, and it was as if her very soul had been defiled. It was not a dignified gesture, but she couldn’t help it. Kepesh chuckled openly at her discomfort.

Nochtli shot a glance at Luthiel, searching for any sort of help. It was not coming, for the ranger was wincing openly. Whether or not this hum was real, the woman’s pain certainly was. Bad enough that assistance from that quarter was unlikely

“Why go through all of this for a single sword?” Nochtli said, if only to keep herself from thinking about how bad the situation was.

“But it’s not just a sword. It seems that your friend hasn’t quite told you everything after all,” Kepesh said, genuinely surprised. He sighed dramatically. “Some ally she’s turned out to be.”

“Just get to the point,” Nochtli said, narrowing her eyes further. For the first time, Kepesh frowned. It was a slight motion, barely perceptible, and it lasted or only a second before the archon composed himself again, but it was definitely there.

“The sword is named Karon’vein, the Shadow’s Reach. Of all the little toys the old Aeldari empire made, that sword has to be one of the most...irresponsible. Karon’vein can open a portal in the Webway itself to wherever the wielder desires, even the very heart of the enemy’s keep. But that’s just the beginning: the act of opening the Webway so violently casts a shadow over the entire area, cutting it off from all communication and aid. Imagine it: the ability to deliver an army anywhere I want in the galaxy, to take whatever slaves I want without fear of reprisal. With that sword, the entire galaxy would be my plaything. The mightiest empires in existence would be nothing more than farms for the arena and my flesh-carvers.”

As Kepesh spoke of his grand, deluded design, his voice grew and grew in energy, becoming a bellowing tirade. At its apex, his mouth spread into a savage, open-mouthed grin. He looked Nochtli straight in the eyes as he said the next words.

“And I hear that your Terra is a lovely place to visit.”

That was all Nochtli needed to hear. Her mind clouded over with rage, and so she wasn’t fully aware of her actions when she pulled her bolt pistol out from under her dress, pointed it square at Kepesh chest and fired two rounds in a matter of seconds.

The roar of the mass-reactive shells filled the room, causing everyone else within to flinch or jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all. Even Luthiel was shocked out of her pain, her eyes wide with horror. In those seconds, even the drukhari were too slow to do anything. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion, compared to the bolt rounds.

Everyone except for Kepesh Nul, that is. The Archon simply stood in place, that freakish grin still plastered across his face. The shots were perfectly aimed, Nochtli was certain. She had always been a good markswoman, and she had picked her targets well, even in an instinctive rage. The shells would take the drukhari in the heart. If they hit. The instant before the shots struck home, the air in front of Kepesh shimmered, and the bolt rounds were swallowed by flashes of darkness. It was as if they were consumed by shadows. As the report of the pistol echoed away, Kepesh just stood there, utterly unharmed.

“Now that was terribly rude,” he said.

After that, the room froze. Everyone stared at Nochtli, as if waiting for her to declare what should happen next. Luthiel looked at her with an expression that suggested the seraphim had gone totally insane. The drukhari looked ready to pounce on her with eager ferocity. Kepesh mostly seemed to be having a good time.

Nochtli glanced towards the door. In the confusion, a few of the kabalite warriors had shifted out of position. It wasn’t much, but there was now a largely clear path straight to the door and out of the viewing gallery. She looked back to Luthiel. The aeldari’s gaze now went past her. She had seen it too. Tension hung heavy in the air, ready to snap.

“Give them a head start,” Kepesh said. “We wouldn’t want this to be boring.”

Nochtli burst into a sprint, shoving past kabalite and incubi alike in a mad dash to get to the door. Luthiel was only a few paces behind her, though the aeldari wove through the obstacles with rather more grace. None of the drukhari made any move to stop them. In seconds, they were free, but that only meant their pace increased. Nochtli didn’t look back. There was no need. Her only thought was moving forward as fast as she possibly could. The crack of gunfire echoed down the hallway. Projectiles-tiny crystal shards-smashed into the walls and ceilings around them. The shots were far too wide to have simply missed.

It was like hunters driving prey.

The two women tore down hallways and pelted up stairs at full tilt, so fast that a single lapse in concentration would send one or both of them tumbling. Nochtli tried desperately to recall her mental map of the palace, but it seemed under pressure, such fine detail was beyond her. No matter. Their goal had not changed. She just needed to be away. Careful plans and measured thoughts could come later.

“Where are we going?” Luthiel shouted, from behind her.

“Somewhere not here!”

“Good, because that humming is getting worse!”

“What do you mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Luthiel snapped, beyond impatient. She really, truly did not have time for this.

“I don’t know,” Luthiel admitted. “But it’s like...it’s like something is trying to push through the air!”

Nocthli wasn’t going to justify that absurdity with a response. She just gritted her teeth and kept on moving. Headed to who-knew-where as fast as she possibly could.

It was only with pure instinct that Nochtli noticed the drukhari warrior coming around the corner in front of her. By then, it was far too late for either of them to get out of the way, or to draw a bead with any sort of gun. Instead, the kabalite swung his rifle downwards, driving the serrated blade on the barrel towards Nochtli’s skull. As she skidded to a stop, Nochtli swung her pistol upwards, swatting the rifle away. She pulled the pistol down, and fired point-blank. The warrior fell backwards, armor and chest ruined.

Then there were more drukhari, and all semblance of order vanished. A trio of them came from down the hallway the first had occupied. They raised their rifles as they ran, spewing a storm of crystalline projectiles. Nochtli dove back behind the corner, firing her pistol blind. Amidst the howl of gunfire, she thought she heard one body drop. In one fluid motion, Luthiel dropped to a knee in the middle of the space, let out a few shots of her own pistol, and then dove into cover behind the other corner.

Nochtli used the moment to examine the area, and cursed. They had found themselves in the intersection of two long hallways, both wide enough for multiple people to walk side by side. There was open space in every direction, each of which was rapidly filling with drukhari warriors. They were already surrounded, and it was unclear if there was anything they could do about it. She dearly missed her armor.

That didn’t mean they stopped fighting. Indeed, they struggled with renewed fury. Nochtli and Luthiel fired shot after shot without pause, and Schola Progenium training and xenos reflexes meant that most shots hit home. Bolt rounds threw kabalite warriors to the ground in messy, bloody heaps, and whatever ammunition Luthiel’s pistol fired left neat little holes in dark-green armor, leaving the warriors to drop like useless puppets. What fleeting cover they had from walls was better than nothing, and the two women darted between it like phantoms, never staying in one place for more than an instant.drukhari projectiles rained around them, kept from finding their mark by grace of The Emperor alone.

But however much they fought, no matter how much fury they displayed, they were only two, and their strength only so great. Within the span of minutes, they were completely surrounded by almost twenty kabalites, pinned in the center of the intersection by a ring of rifles. The two women stood back to back, hearts pounding with adrenaline, guns yet ready, but there was nothing they could do. It was over.

By contrast, the drukhari were perfectly calm, seemingly unperturbed by the numerous corpses of their fellows around them. They waited patiently for something Nochtli could begin to guess.

“Fun as that was, I think we’re done now, yes?” Vesh’sai’s icy voice came from behind the ring of warriors. The lhamaean pushed her way through to stand before Nochtli and Luthiel, a thin, almost artful blade in hand. Nochtli didn’t bother responding. Nothing she could have said would matter. She would stand and fall as a proud member of the Adepta Sororitas, giving the alien nothing but righteous hatred.

“I’d say you should come quietly, but I don’t really care. I’ll enjoy myself either way,” Vesh’sai sneered.

The moment was broken by Luthiel crying out in pain. Nochtli spun to see her double over, clutching the sides of her head. At the same time, Nochtli’s vision was filled by flickers of lightning. Then she did hear the hum, now a brutal whine, filing her awareness.

An instant later, a blinding flash of golden light erupted in the center of the intersection, accompanied by a roar of pure power. None present could avoid turning away. When the noise and light faded, they had been replaced by a figure. And when Nochtli saw who it was, her mouth fell open in undisguised awe.

They were massive, taller than anyone Nochtli had ever seen, taller even than an Astartes. They were clad in golden armor of impossible artistry and beauty. One of their huge, broad shoulderplates was dyed the deepest purple, the same color as the cape that flowed down from their waist. Red gems dotted the armor, and a brilliant plume draped over a stem on the top.Their weapon was a staff nearly twice as tall as Nochtli, topped by a huge boltgun and axeblade. A boxy grenade launcher rested on the right arm. Both weapon and armor were covered in imagery of eagles and lightning. But most of all, they radiated an aura of pure divinity. Nochtli could hardly stand to be in this being’s presence. She was utterly unworthy. They were a titan of power and majesty, and they stood between Nochtli and the drukhari.

It was all Nochtli could do to keep from falling to her knees in worship. But then the newcomer turned towards her, revealing a round helmet set deep into an alcove in the armor. Twin red eyepieces blaze with a focus the Battle Sister could never match.

“Greetings,” the newcomer said, their deep voice at once commanding and reassuring. “I am Lytanus Cheim, allarus custodian of the Violet Bulwark brotherhood and the Aquilan Shield shield company. I am oathsworn to protect your life at all costs, in the name of Terra and the Master of Mankind. Honored sister, aeldari, can you still fight?”

Nochtli knew she should respond. She had to. Before her stood one of the guardians of The Emperor, and yet here she fumbled like a foolish child.

“But my lord, don’t you see how many of them there are?” This pathetic, meaningless question was all she could manage.

“Yes, I do,” he said, but the custodian sounded like he was admitting an embarrassing secret. With a press of a rune, his axe-blade ignited with crackling power. “I too wish this could be more of a challenge.”


	5. Breakout and Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I managed to put out a new chapter relatively quickly! Go me.  
> Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words on the last chapter (and those before, I suppose). It's legitimately been really great to hear, and I'm glad people are enjoying this.   
> Well, here's the next one!

The Adepta Sororitas were among the finest, best trained, armed and organized armies in the Imperium. Though ‘regular’ humans without the gene-sorcery of the Adeptus Astartes or the holy augmetics of the Martian priesthood, each and every Battle Sister was trained past the limits of human endurance until they were experts in the art of death, even before they first set foot on the battlefield. They were possessed of reflexes, instincts, and tactical prowess that far surpassed most other human soldiery. Nochtli was no exception. She knew, with pride and humility, that she could read any combat, and in moments grasp the best way to proceed. And she was more than capable of carrying such actions out, with swiftness and finality.

But even she could not follow what happened in those hallways, over the span of the next few seconds.

To their credit, the drukhari reacted quickly. The kabalites moved with the same inhuman grace that Luthiel possessed, re-aiming their guns with quick, precise motions. The group behind Nochtli and Luthiel charged forward without missing a beat, fanning out to cover as much area as possible. The kabalites acted with unity, discipline, and purpose. Nohctli was forced to admit that such skill would have easily overwhelmed most enemies, perhaps even Battle Sisters.

Here, it didn’t matter.

Before those opening actions had finished, Lytanus Chiem’s right arm snapped up. With a dull thump, his grenade launcher spat a cylinder over Nochtli and Luthiel’s heads in a steep arc. It burst in a cacophony of light, noise and shrapnel in front of the charging drukhari, sending the four warriors reeling and screaming, their attack decisively halted. None of the shrapnel so much as touched the two women. Even as the explosion echoed throughout the hallways, Lytanus spun back around, swinging his axe in a tight arc, cleany bisecting a nearby kabalite. As the axe traveled through, Lytanus pulled the polearm’s trigger. The bolter atop barked twice, taking two more kabalites from their feet. He then stepped back, interposing his massive bulk between the remaining warriors and the two women.

All of this happened before the drukhari fired a single shot.

But when the counter-attack did come, it came as fiercely as anything could. Drukhari rifles spat a torrent of crystalline projectiles, all precisely aimed at vital points on Lytanus’s body. Other warriors used the rifle-fire as cover, slipping in close with blades and pistols in hand. But for all the lethal effect this attack should have had, it meant nothing to Lytanus. Projectiles clattered off of gleaming auramite like rain against ferrocrete. The second any drukhari got within reach of that axe, they were cut down without remorse or hesitation. And Lytanus’s reach was far indeed. The custodian moved as a whirlwind of death and destruction. Moving from one kill to the next as if he were swatting away annoying insects. This may well have been true, for all the threat they seemed to pose to Lytanus. As far as Nochtli was concerned, this was only proper: the Adeptus Custodes were the divine will of The Emperor made manifest, those among His children who were closest to His divinity and might, made in His image and wrought with ancient arts passed down from the very beginning of the Imperium. What could a handful of mere xenos hope to do against that? How could they possibly believe they were worthy to be a danger to such a being? As Nochtli saw it, Lytanus was simply meting out punishment for this arrogance.

And through all of it, neither Nochtli nor Luthiel could do anything, save for standing near totally still and watching the custodian work with undisguised awe. This was not out of cowardice, or fear, or incompetence. There was simply nothing useful they could accomplish, at least nothing that would help Lytanus or be terribly safe for anyone involved. The space was small and constrained, and the current combatants filled it perfectly well. To step into that arena would be beyond foolish. It would be like trying to physically push a ship through the Warp, from the outside. Pointless, and utterly ignorant of the vast forces in play.

Viscous and prideful though they might be, the drukhari were not foolish. Over half their number had already been cut down, with no sign of their situation improving. With a frustrated click of her tongue, Vesh’sai began moving away from the melee, and gestured for a few of the kabalites to follow her. They melted back into the corridor promptly and without hesitation, leaving the remaining drukhari to try and fail to do much at all to Lytanus. The lhamaean and her guards acted as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, but it was not enough to go entirely unnoticed. Lytanus’s head twitched towards the retreating Lhamaean. It was a tiny gesture, but he had seen. The polearm snapped up. A kabalite stabbed a knife at the custodian’s shoulder. Lytanus was forced to pull the axe around to ward off the attacker. And then Vesh’sai was gone. The was nary a pause in the combat to acknowledge this development.

Less than a minute later, it was over. Lytanus was hardly affected by Vesh’sai’s escape, and he let none of the other drukhari so much as get close to fleeing. He worked with brutal, measured efficiency. Not a motion was wasted, but every blow landed with terrifying force. When at last he was surrounded by naught but drukhari corpses, Lytanus’s body relaxed and immediately returned to a neutral state, as if nothing was amiss. He turned to face Nochtli.

“Are you unharmed, sister?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. Nochtli wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. This man was the mightiest warrior-the mightiest thing-she had ever seen, and he was worried about her? Surely, the Adeptus Custodes didn’t concern themselves with matters so lowly and unimportant as the safety of a single Battle Sister. And more the point, what danger did he think she had been in? After the custodian had appeared, not a single drukhari had paid any attention to Nochtli. Not a single projectile, blade, or armor spike had gone anywhere near her, with all focus on the custodian. If anything, the safest place to be had been as far away from the fight as possible. Still, Lytanus was a custodian, and so it was far, far from Nochtli’s place to dismiss his courtesy.

“Yes, thank you, My Lord,” she said, trying to transmute pumping adrenaline into politeness. “But...but what are you even doing here?”

“Like I said, I have sworn an oath to defend your life at all costs. You must forgive me for taking so long to reach you. Our astropaths and scanners had great difficulty locating you. I was teleported down as soon as we had a lock on your location. I am glad I was able to make it in time.”

“You said ‘we.’” Luthiel stepped forward. “Does that mean there are more of you?”

“No,” Lytanus said, shaking his head. It was a simple word, spoken with decisive, crushing finality. “We were unprepared for the treachery of this world’s defense force. The defense platforms opened fire upon our ship the moment we approached. It was all we could do to get me down here. The ship broke off immediately afterwards, to return to Terra and seek aid. They will not be returning soon. Until then, we are alone.”

After that, a silence hung over the crossroads. It seemed that The Emperor had answered Nochtli’s prayers, at least in part. They had gotten aid, but from what Lytanus had said, he would be it. But, she couldn’t very well complain. Aside from an entire army, a member of the Adeptus Custodes was just about the best Nochtli could hope for. In terms of sheer strength, Lytanus added far, far more to this little party than Nochtli or Luthiel could, combined. So then why did it feel like it wasn’t enough?

Nochtli didn’t very well know what to say about that.

“It’s not so bad,” Lytanus chuckled artificially, perhaps trying to reassure Nochtli. “We custodians spend most of our time outnumbered, and that’s never stopped me before. It’s quite enjoyable, even, if you set your mind to it.”

Neither woman responded to that idea.

“Regardless, it is far past time that we left this place. I have fought the drukhari many times before, and this is hardly the worst they can bring to bear. Personally, I don’t want to be here when worse shows up.”

If this was meant to be a joke, the humor was lost on Nochtli. But, she was hardly in a position to disagree or complain. With a simple, professional nod she stepped forward to indicate her assent. Now that things were marginally calmer, she could take better stock of their surroundings. She decided that she did, in fact, recognize where they were. She was fairly sure she could lead the group back out of the palace from there. It was only the first of many steps until the situation even began to improve, but it was an important step. Luthiel didn’t hesitate to get moving, either. With the teleport flare well in the past, the aeldari’s distress seemed to be gone, but she still looked generally agitated, never quite standing still. Nochti couldn’t blame her.

Lytanus held out a palm to halt the aeldari.

“I thank you for all that you must have done to get Sister Nochtli to this point, aeldari, but I cannot allow you to stay with her any longer. This is where you must depart.”

“Excuse you,” Luthiel snapped, aghast. She jabbed a finger at Nochtli “I’m the only reason this idiot has made it this far. And besides, this is as much my fight as hers. There’s no way I’m just going to give up now.”

“I understand that, and I am grateful,” Lytanus said, calmly. “However, my task is to protect Sister Nochtli, and her alone. I have no reason nor desire to add a xenos to that list. It is for all that you have done so far that I am giving you this chance to depart peacefully.”

For a few moments, long and pointed, Luthiel just stared at the custodian. Her eyes narrowed to piercing points, as if trying to burrow all the way through Lytanus’s auramite to the man’s soul beneath. Nocthli was left with the distinct impression that Luthiel was trying to tell if Lytanus was being serious. Perhaps this was because Nochtli was doing so as well.

Neither woman saw anything to suggest that he was not.

Luthiel snarled something descriptive about the hygiene of humanity at large, but otherwise did nothing. Indeed, she stayed firmly rooted in place, barely moving a muscle. At first, Nochtli was baffled by the woman’s restraint, especially in the face of insult. But a single glance at Lytanus was all the seraphim needed to understand.

There was nothing outwardly aggressive about Lytanus’s posture. He stood casually, one arm at his side, the other holding his polearm upright. Not a muscle in his body appeared to be tense. His spherical helm was artistic and imposing in equal measure, but the red lenses betrayed none of the bearer’s thoughts. For anyone else, this image would have been one of laxity, of one unprepared for danger. But Nochtli had seen Lytanus move, seen how he reacted. There was no doubt whatsoever that he could and would react to the slightest threat with terrible speed. If Lytanus Chiem desired it, he could kill Luthiel at any moment. And if he did, it would be with unstoppable decisiveness. There was absolutely nothing Luthiel could do to challenge that. Everyone in the corridor knew this to be a simple fact.

And so it was Nochtli’s turn to muster every shred of her Emperor-given courage, and step forward.

“No,” she said, and hoped it sounded determined. “She stays.”

“Sister? What is the meaning of this,” Lytanus asked. His body had not shifted an inch, but even Nochtli could tell he was genuinely surprised and confused. 

“She stays with us, or I’m not going with you at all,” Nochtli said, trying to keep herself from trembling with willpower alone. Then she added a few other words, for good measure. “And her name is Luthiel.”

What happened next might well have been the most terrifying moment of Nochtli’s entire life. At least, that was how she would remember it. Lytanus did nothing but stare at her. He didn’t even turn his head down. Those gleaming red lenses just...watched Nochtli. Appraising her. When Lytanus had first appeared, Nochtli had seen him as a conduit of The Emperor’s own will. If that were true, then this was tantamount to being observed by The God-Emperor of Mankind himself. And it made Nochtli feel so very, very small. Like everything that made her a person was being peeled away, layer by layer, until the core of her being was exposed for all to see. She could not stand up to it, could not resist. She was sure that everything she had ever done, every victory and defeat and lapse of faith and little moments of humanity were thrown out for the entire galaxy to pick through, bit by bit. She should have crumpled, should have run. Should have unturned to a whimpering wretch on the spot.

And yet she stood.

All of a sudden, Lytanus gave a short bow.

“If that is your wish,” he said. Only then was the scrutiny over. Nochtli was left with the distinct feeling that a great, crushing weight had been lifted from her. It was all she could do to not double over, clutching her chest and gasping for breath.

Noises came from back down the hallways: boots on stone and words barked in alien tongues.

“Is there transportation nearby,” Lytanus asked, with pointed urgency.

“Y-yes, there are chimeras in the front plaza,” Nochtli responded.

“Good. We head there,” Lytnaus said. It was not a request, or suggestion. It was what was going to happen, simple as that. It was a terribly inconsiderate thing, considering that Nochtli had yet to fully recover from Lytanus’s critical gaze. But with a silent curse, Nochtli pulled herself together. Or at least, something close to it. She was an ordained sister of the Adepta Sororitas. It was not for her to get nervous, or shy away from His eyes. With only a couple beats more of hesitation, Nochtli took off down the hallway, in the direction of the exit. Focusing on her mental map, tenuous as it was, helped a little. The others wasted no time in following.

“What was that about,” Luthiel hissed, after a minute, right into Nochtli’s ear.

“What was what about?” Nochtli asked. It was a genuine question. She was largely ignoring everything but the way forward, and only partly on purpose. Her primary concern was to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

“Don’t be stupid. You know full well what I mean,” Luthiel said. “Why are you suddenly so concerned about what I want? Since when did humans care about aliens?”

This got Nochtli to look back at the aeldari, but it was not with amusement or pleasure.

“Do you really want to do this right now,” Nochtli shot back. She made a show of speeding up, as if to encourage Luthiel to be quiet and do the same. Naturally, the other woman had no trouble keeping pace.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“I could always not defend you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for not entirely trusting the wholesome motives of a human. You lot have such a wonderful track record with aliens, after all.”

“Well, I--” the retort died in Nochtli’s throat. At that precise moment, she realized she could not come up with a good response to that point, at least not one that sounded hopelessly trite and self-serving. When she failed to promptly say anything else, her faze frozen in the beginnings of speech, Luthiel just made a clicking noise that suggested exactly how she felt about the situation.

All the while, they ran. They ran with as much haste as they had before Lytanus had arrived, but now their progress was more focused, less panicked. With calm and resolve came clarity, and with clarity came renewed purpose. No longer was Nochtli tearing through the palace in a terrified frenzy, with only flashes of remembered paths. Now, she was a warrior of The Emperor once more, striding towards a clear goal. More than anything in recent days, this felt good. It let her focus on something other than...whatever else it was that was happening to her.

Within minutes, the group had reached the ballroom. Lytanus simply barreled through the big double doors. The wood was hardly an obstacle, opening the path to the balcony wide. Nochtli and Luthiel sprinted down the long marble stairs, taking many steps at a time. Once, Nochtli’s dress snagged momentarily on the filigreed banister, almost sending her tumbling down. With a curse, she caught herself. She could not wait to be out of this wretched thing, and back into the comfort of her armor. The two women reached the bottom of the stairs just in time for Lytanus to crash through the balcony railing and drop to the floor. He landed hard, sending a tremendous crack through the ballroom as the stone beneath his feet splintered. The assembled nobles of Alken III, dancing mindlessly up until that very moment, all jumped in shock, some wailing pitifully at the noise. None of them moved to stop the intruders or impede them in any way. Even had they not been under the effects of Vesh’sai’s poisons, Nochtli doubted any of them would feel the need to try. Members of the Imperial nobility were possessed of many things, but selfless courage was rarely one of them. Those few nobles who found themselves in the group’s path by chance were easily pushed past or brushed aside. 

Seconds later, the relatively small entryway to the ballway was in sight. The great doors were already opened wide so that party guests could go to and from unimpeded, leaving the plaza outside fully exposed. It was only a few short steps away.

And then, just like that, the group was free of the governor’s palace.

They left the building fighting. Almost two dozen PDF troopers filled the courtyard. They were spreading out, moving towards the palace with weapons ready. Clearly, someone had alerted them that hostiles were about to exit the building. Even with their minds numbed, the PDF moved with what would have been commendable efficiency and purpose. There was no chance they could be caught unawares, nor wrongfooted by trickery, at that point.

But that didn’t mean they were in any way prepared for what came out of the palace at them. Nochtli and Luthiel poured pistol fire into the crowd. Their shots were barely aimed, but effective nonetheless. The sudden onslaught caused the wave of soldiers to stagger to a stop. It was only for an instant, only the tiniest lapse in discipline, but it was more than enough for what came next. Lytanus fired a grenade into the soldiers’ midst. This time, it was a rather more conventional explosive. With a rolling boom, fire and metal rained down on the PDF from above, the force scything through their flak armor with ruinous ease. And then the group was amidst the PDF.

There was no need to communicate, plan, or strategize. All three of them knew what their goal was, and what needed to be done to achieve it. At the end of the courtyard sat the two chimeras, the boxy tanks silent and unguarded. In between the group and the tanks were the PDF. The path forward was clear, and violent. All there was to do was run, and fight.

Or, more accurately, watch Lytanus fight. Nochtli and Luthiel certainly made a showing of themselves. Lasbeams flickered through the air, heat singing the space around the two women. A few beams even caught the edges of their dresses, setting wisps of fabric alight. Nochtli scowled. Without her armor, the lasguns would be tremendously deadly. She was not used to such lowly troopers being a threat. From the way Luthiel hung back, taking only careful steps forward, the ranger was in a similar position. Thankfully, there wasn’t too much to worry about. Lytanus barreled through the PDF like a golden wrecking ball. Every swing of his axe and bark of his boltgun felled its target with precision, and grenade blasts ripped huge holes in the soldier’s formation. Lasgun beams and bayonets bounced off auramite like they were merely suggestions of harm. Even with the artificial discipline inspired by Vesh’sai’s concoction, mere PDF troopers were nothing compared to an allarus custodian.

Really, there was almost nothing for Nochtli or Luthiel to do.

The fight barely lasted long enough to warrant the name. All of Lytanus’s efforts quickly tore open a path through the PDF, a path that the two women wasted no time in exploiting. Those last few yards in sight, Nochtli broke into a dead sprint, drawing out every last scrap of energy her body could muster. It felt like her feet barely touched the ground. She wasn’t fully aware of the world around her, even. She was utterly focused on getting to the chimeras. So focused, it turned out, that she only realized how close she had gotten when she almost ran straight into one of the tanks. Nochtli skidded to a stop, less than a yard away from the vehicle. It was rather plain-looking, as these things went. Chimeras were amongst the most ubiquitous vehicles in the Imperial armies, used in countless numbers by the Astra Militarum, and were built only for purpose. Drab, boxy metal, a single turret to the front, small anti-personnel guns on the flanks, and whatever modifications were deemed necessary for a given warzone. That was it. Ornamentation or ostentation was entirely unnecessary for a vehicle that was meant to be mass produced and replaced with nary a thought. It was nowhere near as durable or reliable as anything used by the Adepta Sororitas or Adeptus Astartes, but the chimera had served the Imperium for millenium, and had acquitted itself well on world after world.

At the moment, though, it was an armored container with wheels and an engine, and that was all that really mattered. Luthiel and Lytanus were only steps behind Nochtli, thankfully equally unharmed. The PDF in the courtyard had been scattered, no longer even a suggestion of threat. For the moment, the courtyard was quiet, and no one was trying to kill them. But there was still the PDF beyond the front gates, not to mention whatever remained within the palace. Nochtli was not so foolish as to believe they had gotten any sort of reprieve. There was no time to waste. 

With a press of a release rune, the Chimera’s back ramp hissed open, revealing the passenger compartment that dominated the tank, and the three of them rushed in. Only once she was in the cramped space within did Nochtli let out anything resembling a relieved breath. It felt good to have metal between her and her enemies once more. But then, a terrible realization.

“Who’s going to drive this thing?”

“You can’t?” Luthiel asked. Nochtli swore she could hear the aeldari’s heart drop.

“Of course not,” Nochtli huffed. “This is a Militarum vehicle. I’m a Battle s]Sister. Why would I know how to drive it?”

Luthiel made a guttural sound, something between a wail and an animal dying painfully.

“We custodians are trained in the operation of most Imperial vehicles and craft,” Lytanus said. His deep voice rumbled in the enclosed compartment. “I can drive.”

Nochtli and Luthiel looked up at Lytanus, and both immediately had doubts. The passenger compartment was large enough to hold a full squad of human troopers, efficiently if not comfortably, but even then the hulking custodian had to hunch down to come close to fitting. A glance towards the front of the chimera, where the driver’s seat was, showed that it only narrowed further. Nochtli wasn’t entirely sure how this was supposed to work, but then there wasn’t much choice, and even less time to debate the matter. So, she just nodded, and Lytanus pushed past towards the front.

Then reality set in. The driver’s chair would have been bulky compared to any normal human, but next to Lytanus it looked more like a toy. There was absolutely no question of him even trying to sit in it. However, it did just enough to block easy access to the control panel beyond. Nor could it be pushed to the side, bolted as it was to the floor. After a couple moments of quiet contemplation, the custodian reached down, and simply yanked the chair out of its housing and tossed it a couple of feet into the passenger compartment. Satisfied, he stepped forward to stand in front of the panel. The clunk of his boot’s maglocks engaging echoed through the tank.

“Sister, please man the turret. We will have pursuers. Luthiel, this may get rough. Secure yourself.”

He clearly expected neither response nor argument. With deftness that belied his size, Lytanus flipped levers and pressed runes, bringing the chimera’s engine to a rumbling hum. The repetitive clank of the treads outside beginning to turn filled the interior. With no time to waste, Nochtli dashed to the front and scrambled up a ladder to the turret. The space was deeply cramped, with barely enough room for the gunner’s chair. Even then, the chair was pressed against the side to allow for people to climb out the top of the turret. When Nochtli sat down, she found herself with just enough room to turn her head. A little. There, she was presented with the familiar shape of a heavy bolter. She breathed a sigh of relief. The heavy bolter was a weapon every Battle Sister knew inside and out. The targeting screen was something new, but the weapon was still the first comfortable thing she had seen in a good while. 

“Our things are in an alley near the gates,” Nochtli shouted back down, as she got settled. “We need to get it; it’s all we have.”

“Understood,” Lytanus replied. There was no other warning. The entire tank lurched forward, engine growling, and then they were moving. It accelerated quickly. Seconds later, they reached the palace gates. They had been closed, and presumably locked tight. It was more than enough to keep any person in or out. But then, they were in a tank, and Lytanus was not slowing down. The chimera hit the gates hard. Impact was harsh, the sound of tortured, tearing metal piercing through the hull of the tank. It lasted only a moment, and then they were through. Nochtli heard shouts from outside, panicked and confused. The PDF stationed at the gates, then. From up in the turret, they sounded small and insignificant. Lasguns cracked, bolts impacting the chimera as a staccato rhythm. It reminded Nochtli of a mild rain. At no point did the chimera stop moving.

“Sister, we are approaching the alley,” Lytanus said. “You must retrieve your gear quickly.”

“I’ll get it,” Luthiel replied. She wasn’t giving anyone the chance to protest. The aeldari pressed a release rune, and was dashing out the back door before the ramp had finished descending.

Seconds passed. Long seconds, heavy with the weight of anxiety and waiting. The seconds were silent, save for the idling engine. The metal walls of the tank seemed to press in on Nochtli, growing tight with the pressure. The sudden lapse in activity was harsher than she had expected. Her heart still pounded, her body still itched for action. And Luthiel was taking too long. 

“I’m going out there to check on her,” Nochti said. “See if she needs any help.”

“No, you will not,” Lytanus replied. His voice was firm and absolute.

“What? Why in His name not? We need that armor and weapons, fast.”

“My sole duty is to keep you safe, sister,” Lytanus explained, dangerously calm. “Right now, our surroundings are too dangerous for me to allow you to leave this vehicle. And I have no obligation to protect the aeldari.”

“What if the enemy catches up to us while she’s still out there?”

“Then we will depart, immediately.”

Nochtli’s heart dropped. Before she could really think about the ramifications of this, she crawled out of the gunner’s seat, and climbed the ladder up through the top of the turret hatch.

“Sister, what are you doing?”

Heavy stomps rang through the chimera. Nochtli froze mid-climb, hand still gripping the hatch handle, head poking out the hatch. She looked down to see Lytanus standing directly below the hatch, red eye-lenses staring back up at her. She swallowed. Lytanus might have been sworn to protect her, but she was quickly getting the sense that he did not have to do so in a way that she would enjoy.

Nochtli looked out over the turret. Deeper into the alley, Luthiel was lurching slowly back towards the chimera, dragging a large mass behind her. Even tied together in a relatively convenient bundle, two full sets of armor and accompanying weapons was far too heavy for a single woman, let alone one as small and lean as Luthiel, to easily move alone. She was making progress, one step at a time, but it wasn’t enough. It was far too slow. Every fiber of Nochtli’s being wanted to leap out of the tank and help Luthiel with her burden. It was a matter of practicality, she told herself. The faster they got their things, the better. That was all it was.

And yet, she made no such move. Strictly speaking, Lytanus wasn’t doing anything to stop her. He was still at the bottom of the ladder, whole feet away. But he had left no doubt about his desire for Nochtli to remain inside, and she was certain that if he felt the need to enforce that desire, he would do so without hesitation. That glare alone made the sheer immovability of the custodian’s will abundantly clear. Nochtli had no desire to test that will. If she did, she would lose. That was a simple fact. Her limbs twitched, begging for movement. Her heart fought to stay cold, begging for rationality.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Luthiel had gotten closer, but close wasn’t enough. And then, the decision was made for Nochtli. With one last cry of futile effort, Luthiel’s bundle of armor and weapons collapsed. Once that happened, There was nothing else Nochtli could do. In one motion, she pulled herself up and over the lip of the turret, landing on the hull in a smooth vault. Lytanus shouted something from within, but she paid it no mind. She half-ran, half-tumbled down the side of the chimera. Her dress caught and tore on the countless little bumps and protrusions of the hull. If the dress had ever actually been attractive, it would never be so again. She dropped to the street in front of Luthiel, miraculously on her feet. She wasted no time in running forward, and picking up any loose piece or armor, Imperial or aeldari, that she could find.

“Took you long enough,” Luthiel grumbled. Nochtli didn’t bother responding, and just pulled. Immediately, her muscles got very upset with her. It turned out power armor was heavy.

Lytanus stormed out the back of the chimera. As he rounded the tank his stance made no secret of his displeasure. He advanced on Nochtli like a wall of metal and anger. 

“Sister, return inside immediately,” he said. The boom of his voice made Nochtli want to quite literally drop everything and obey, like a chastised canid. Buth the weight of the armor kept her grounded, focused. It reminded her, in some small way, of her true purpose.

“We’re almost there, just help with the armor,” she protested. After a moment’s pause, she added: “Please, my lord.”

When Lytanus stepped forward there was not a shred of compassion or acquiescence in the motion. Nochtli could not very well just give up on getting their things and Luthiel back to the chimera. It was too late to meekly apologize and slink back to the chimera. But if Lytanus wanted to simply drag her back, then there was nothing she could do to stop him. This was also true, if not moreso.

But then, a noise: it started as a low whisper, but rapidly grew into a sharp whine that filled the alley with the promise of danger and fear. There was no longer time for argument, only action. Lytanus surged forward with sudden speed. He pulled the bundle of armor from Nochtli’s grasp, lifting the weight with ease. He shouted for her to move. The seraphim needed no such encouragement. She and Luthiel sprinted for the welcoming embrace of the tank, pushing adrenaline and primal fear into their limbs. Nochtli took loping strides up the ramp. Her gaze was fixed on the turret ladder. Luthiel was steps behind, but even with the reduced burden of her own lightweight armor, she struggled. With a snarl of frustration, Lytanus simply pushed the aeldari into the passenger compartment. She lost her balance, and the armor fell to the floor with a chaotic clatter. Nochtli’s power armor joined it a moment later, as the custodian had dropped it in his haste to get to the controls. The sound pulled Nochtli’s instincts to turn around and look. It was then, as the back ramp rose, that she got her first glimpse of their pursuers.

The craft the drukhari were riding almost looked like the jetbikes Nochtli and Luthiel had used outside the city. Long, sleek, pointed front, and single engine, with a single underslung gun. But where the aeldari jetbikes had been built for simple, elegant purpose, the drukhari had built theirs to be machines of terror. Each was covered in blades and spikes, every surface a jagged edge. The riders wore blank, silver helmets that made them appear to be faceless harbingers of murder. Perhaps they were. Cruel, stomach-turning symbols decorated the noses of the bikes. Ordo Xenos reports named them ‘reavers.’ And yet despite the seeming impracticality of the vehicles’ design, when six of them came screaming into view the riders controlled them with perfect, deadly precision. The jetbikes cut through the air like a knife through flesh. 

Nochtli all but jumped up the ladder to the gunner’s seat. Even before she sat down the chimera lurched back, and sped out of the alley. The engine roared with power, throwing the vehicle forward and Nochtli back into the seat. With a press of a foot pedal, the turret ground around to face the jetbikes behind. The targeting screen lit up with potential threats, small chevrons closing in fast. Fast enough that there was almost no time to react. Nochtli adjusted the heavy bolter as best she could, and pulled the trigger.

In the greater hierarchy of the Adepta Sororitas, seraphim were considered to be precision weapons, used to strike at those places where the enemy was most vulnerable. They did not carry the deadliest weapons in the Order’s arsenal, but their speed, flexibility, and faith more than made up for any shortcomings in caliber. It was a proud role, one that Nochtli fulfilled with pride. There was no shame or insult in it. Countless conflicts had been ended by the well-timed appearance of a squad of women armed with nothing but bolt pistols and zeal.

But when Nochtli fired that heavy bolter, she understood for the first time why the Order’s heavy weapons teams always seemed to enjoy themselves so much.

The huge gun roared. Nochtli could feel the power of it coursing through her arms and rolling through the rest of her body. She thought she felt the gun’s very machine spirit bellow its righteous fury at the enemies of Mankind. There was something deeply, primally...satisfying about the feeling.

The heavy bolter spewed a hail of mass-reactive shells at the xenos jetbikes. There was a series of short explosions, and then one of the chevrons on the targeting screens blipped out. Moments later, a great many little objects plinked off the chimera’s hull. Nochtli allowed herself a satisfied smile. 

But there was still work to do. The other chevrons were almost on top of them, close enough that the whine of their engines pierced clean through the hull. Nochtli brought the turret around, firing all the way. But the turret moved far, far too slowly. Nochtli was quite sure that by the time she brought the gun to bear on their current position, they would be long gone. It didn’t help that the chimera itself was hardly stable. Lytanus was driving the tank at full speed, down roads that weren’t meant to accommodate it, past row upon row of buildings that barely gave it enough space to move. The treads chewed up pavement, and the hull bounced off and crashed through countless obstacles. The ride was terribly bumpy at best, and downright violent at worst. Nochtli had to make countless micro-adjustments to even try to stay on target. And Lytanus showed no signs of stopping this course.

“You’re not going to stop them with that clumsy thing,” Luthiel said, suddenly behind Nochtli.

Long rifle in hand, the aeldari was swiftly climbing up the turret ladder. She threw open the hatch, braced one foot on Nochtli’s chair, right next to her head, and pointed the rifle out over the turret. She fired off two shots, echoing blasts accompanied by bright flashes of light. Then, Nochtli saw a jetbike fly by overhead, riderless, and spinning uncontrollably. An explosion blossomed as the craft hit an unseen building. On the targeting screen, the chevrons scattered to avoid the unexpected assault. Nochtli seized the moment the pour bolt fire into the suddenly disorganized cluster of enemies. Another explosion, and another light winked out. 

Three kills in less than a minute, against fast, deadly enemies. It was good work, by any measure. But the three jetbikes that remained were undaunted, and thus began their own assault. The chevrons arced back. There was a low, burning crackle, and then something hit the chimera. The whole vehicle shook, almost throwing Nochtli from her seat. She could have sworn she smelled metal melting.

“What was that?” She shouted in alarm.

“Heat lance impacts,” Lytanus reported, voice perfectly neutral. “Port defense arrays are inoperable, and drive mechanisms have suffered heavy damage. We cannot sustain additional hits.”

“Working on it!” Luthiel snapped. Her rifle snapped off more shots, but they were frantic, less controlled. None hit. Worse, the chimera was getting noticeably slower, every turn and bump harder on the tank’s superstructure. The metal groaned in protest. Nochtli was no tech-priest, but it hardly sounded good, or sustainable.

She slammed the turret around to follow the jetbikes. She fired more shots, but she did not intend to hit this time. Instead, one of the chevrons jerked upwards, gracefully avoiding the bolt rounds, but flying straight into the sights of Luthiel’s rifle. The rifle flashed, and something important in the jetbike exploded. 

“Did that scare them off?” Nochtli asked.

“No such luck,” Luthiel replied, snapping off more shots.

“Didn’t think so,” Nochtli grumbled. She moved the turret and heavy bolter as fast as she could, but with the bikes moving so fast, aim had mostly become a matter of blind faith.

“Perhaps you wished they had become leavers?”

Nochtli leaned down, out of the gunner’s chair, to look into the crew compartment. From the deep voice, and by simple process of elimination, it had to have been Lytanus who had spoken. But that notion seemed...wrong. Deeply wrong. She had to look, to make sure she had heard what she just heard. Even Luthiel took a few steps down the ladder, for much the same purpose.

“My lord?” Nochtli ventured.

“I have heard that mortal soldiers often utilize comedy to calm their nerves and build camaraderie during battle,” Lytanus said, still struggling to keep the damaged chimera under control. “Was I mistaken?”

Nochtli and Luthiel just stared at the back of the custodian’s head. Nochtli couldn’t speak for Luthiel, but she certainly had no idea how to process this latest development. For just a few seconds, a rather strange silence fell over the chimera.

“Perhaps we should move past this,” Lytanus said. He sounded genuinely...disappointed?

“They’re coming in close!” Luthiel shouted. She had climbed back up the ladder. The moment was broken.

“Then shoot them!” Nochtli snapped. 

“I can’t! They’re too low, I can’t get a good angle!”

“One of you will have to get out there. Sister, take this,” Lytanus said. He unbuckled the blade strapped to his back, and held it out behind him. Nochtli dropped down into the crew compartment to take it, but when she got there, she stopped short. The blade was a magnificent thing, it’s handle wrought in gleaming gold, the crossguard sculpted into leering eagle heads. Gemstones studded the pommel and scabbard. For Lytanus it was effectively a knife, a back-up weapon. But to Nochtli, it may well have been a greatsword. Looking at it, a weapon so close to the grace of The Emperor, Nochtli wasn’t at all sure she was worthy to be in its presence, let alone wield it.

“The misercordia’s name is Shield’s Fist. Take it, now,” Lytanus said.

Nochtli swallowed her fear. This behavior was totally unbecoming for a Battle Sister. If she was not yet worthy of the weapon, then it was her duty to become so, through battle and bravery against the enemies of mankind in His Name. She gripped the pommel with both hands, and drew the blade. It’s sharpness hummed through the air. She was unprepared for the misercordia’s weight, and staggered back a step. But seeing the sword’s full majesty, the steel shining, proud faith filled her breast, and gave her all the strength she needed. 

But there was no time for awe. The whine of the jetbikes’ was close, close enough that the chimera’s hull did nothing to mute it. At full force, it sounded like the screech of some unholy hunting beast. Nochtli scrambled back to the ladder, and pulled herself up. It was a slow process, made awkward by the huge sword in her hands, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her. Luthiel twisted out of the way, to let Nochtli climb up and out of the hatch.

The seraphim leapt out of the turret with determined zeal, but once she was atop the tank, she immediately regretted her decision. Only then did she realize just how fast Lytanus was driving the chimera. Buildings whipped by, facades dangerously close. Standing was entirely out of the question. It was a terrible effort just to move a few inches across the hull, feet and hands scrabbling at every hold. Before long, though, she could peer over the edge. One of the two remaining jetbikes had drawn in next to the chimera, keeping pace. The other bike was audible from the other side. As Nochtli fought to keep her balance. The drukhari tilted his bike inwards, inching it ever closer to the chimera. Slowly but surely, one of the many blades protruding from the bike made contact. Instantly, a shower of sparks sprayed out as metal bit into metal. The shriek it made stabbed into Nochtli’s ears, the pain almost causing her to lose her grip. 

Instead she pushed herself up, inch by difficult inch, until she was standing on trembling legs. The speed of the chimera drove the wind through her, snapping at her dress and hair. She could barely hear anything beyond the howling. It took more effort than she had ever expended to stay standing for even a second atop the moving tank. Leg muscles started protesting instantly. Only then did she realize just how hard lifting a massive, heavy sword was going to be in such conditions. With a snarl of effort, she hauled Shield’s Fist upwards, only just managing to hold it in something that resembled an aggressive stance.

The drukhari rider’s head snapped upwards, blank mask looking straight at Nochtli. He whipped out a needle-nosed pistol and aimed it at the seraphim with commendable speed. Nochtli was already in the process of losing her balance. There was only a moment in which to act. So, she swung her momentum forwards, held the misercordia out in front of her, and lunged.

The whole world seemed to slow to a crawl. Nochtli was half flying, half falling through the air. The drukhari tried to follow her. Even with the blak mask, Nochtli could have sworn the xenos was panicking. A crystalline projectile whizzed past her ear.

Then they collided, and the force blasted the passage of time back to normal.

Shield’s Fist proved to be as sharp as it looked. The blade slid right through the drukhari’s armor without resistance. The weight of the impact could not be stopped by the rider. Both xenos and seraphim tumbled out of the saddle, and hit the ground below at speed. The two rolled across the street in a chaotic, jumbled heap, scraping across every loose stone and against every nearby building. When they finally came to a stop, Nochtli was covered in countless small cuts, bruises, and aches. Suddenly uncontrolled, the bike itself spun off the chimera, and crashed into a nearby habblock. The blast scattered little bits of metal over everything in the vicinity, Nochtli included. Beneath her, pinned to the street by Shield’s Fist, the drukhari was unmoving.

Without warning, the chimera lurched in the other direction, suddenly trapping the remaining jetbike against the buildings on that side. There was a telling crack, and then a decisive burst of flame. The chimera skidded to a stop.

And then they were alone.

...

“So what, exactly, are you doing here?” Luthiel asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion that laced her words.

“I am here to protect Sister Nochtli. I know you remember that, xenos,” Lytanus said. Though the group was, for the moment, at peace, that didn’t mean tensions had lowered much at all. The three of them huddled in a ruined habblock, using piles of rubble as seats. A tiny chemical fire burned in between them. It barely did anything to the growing night, but it was all Lytanus would allow. They had been forced to stop for the night when, at long last, the chimera’s machine spirit had simply given out. The tank was too heavily damaged. The drukhari weapons had turned most of the port side to molten slag. It would go no further. 

Nochtli had to admit she was thankful for the break, though. Only when she had sat down on the rubble did she realize just how drained she was. If nothing else, she was finally back in her power armor. And that alone went a long way to centering her mind and body. She flexed her fingers, just to feel the familiar, comfortable weight of augmented strength once more. Next to her, though, was a source of rather less calm: Luthiel was not going to be deterred from her interrogation of Lytanus.

“Yes, fine, but you humans aren’t exactly known for caring about individual people. Someone like you must have a reason for going out of your way for someone like her,” the aeldari said, jabbing a thumb at Nochtli. Nochtli opened to protest, to chastise Luthiel for daring to talk back to one of The Emperor’s greatest servants. Instead, Lytanus let out a defeated sigh.

“You are correct, in that regard,” the custodian said. His gilded helmet betrayed no emotions, but even so it was clear he honestly intended to illuminate some truth. “The Adeptus Custodes constantly monitors all manner of communications, physical and psychic, for any threat to Terra and The Emperor. Sometimes, our scryers learn that a single individual will undertake actions that are vital to the direct safety of Terra. In those cases, the Aquilan Shield is deployed to safeguard those individuals until such time as they complete their destined task.”

“So what, she’s supposed to save an entire planet?” Luthiel asked, incredulous. “No offense, but we’re hardly in a position to do something on that scale. We barely have the resources to survive, let alone do...whatever it is you think she’s supposed to do.”

Despite herself, Nochtli was hard pressed to fault the ranger for this logic. But Lytanus simply shrugged. With his great bulk, the gesture appeared almost threatening.

“It is not always apparent what the subjects of our protection will do, or what the danger is, only that they will do so. Sometimes we defend a target for decades until they take the tiniest action to divert calamity. I may not know what Sister Nochtli’s destined task is, but-” he looked straight at Nochtli, and those red lenses seemed to bore straight into the deepest parts of her soul, leaving no doubt as to the truth of his words. “You will defend Terra by your actions. It is your role and duty to figure out how. Until you do, I will be at your side.”

These words almost had physical weight. They crushed into Nochtli, the terrible responsibility they contained was too much to process easily. Or at all.

“The archon plans to use one of our artifacts-a sword-to rip a hole through the Webway to invade your Terra with an army of abominations,” Luthiel said. “He doesn't have it. Her cannoness does. That’s why he wanted us.”

“Then I imagine it is important to find said cannoness and keep this sword from the drukhari,” Lytanus said, like a Schola instructor leading on a dim-witted student. 

“B-but they can’t really be a threat to Terra, could they?” Nochtli protested. She would of course do anything The Emperor required of her, but her training and tutelage with the Order also told her that The Emperor was utterly inviolate, that no xenos could ever hope to wound His glory. “Surely, He would never allow any enemy to set foot on Terra.”

“I can’t imagine you lot would ever leave your precious Emperor undefended,” Luthiel added.

“It is not that simple,” Lytanus shook his head. “It is true that Terra is host to vast amounts of military power, but the realities of defending the world and the greater Solar System are...complicated. The many different forces on Terra all report to different masters, with different agendas. Logistics and communication are always slow. And the Primarch is away, leading the crusade, so leadership falls to those with less...vision. External threats may be trivial, but if the drukhari can truly insert themselves directly onto Terra, there is no telling how much damage they could do, even if they are eventually defeated.”

Lytanus let these words hang in the air, their weight settling onto everything in the vicinity. Nochtli swallowed, hard. She was beginning to realize the true scope of what Lytanus expected of her.

“So...what next?” It was all she could think to ask. All she could manage to ask.

“We find and secure this sword, I imagine,” Lytanus replied. His voice was perfectly calm, as if he hadn’t just said that the very future of the Imperium might rest on Nochtli’s shoulders. “My ship had detected two major sites of activity on the surface. One was the governor’s palace, where I found you. Perhaps the other is you Cannoness.”

“But first, rest. There is a great deal of work ahead. You must be prepared.”


	6. Plots and Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blerg, so much for picking up the pace. Ah well, hope you all enjoy this.

Waking the next morning brought renewed energy and focus, if not exactly clarity or relief. The first thing Nochtli was aware of was the whine of an aircraft’s engines overhead. In the momentary daze of nascent consciousness, she couldn’t get enough information to be sure if it was human or xenos. Either way, it certainly wasn’t a good thing. Training kicked in. Nochtli rolled to her feet and opened her senses fully to the world. A bolt pistol fell into hand. She dropped into a crouch amidst the ruined hab-block, as hidden as a woman in a full suit of power armor could be. Next to her, Lytanus had sunk far back into the building, as entire walls of ferrocrete were the only thing that could effectively conceal his considerable bulk. Luthiel made the both of them look ridiculous: with her cloak, the ranger had become little more than a faintly shimmering shadow. Nochtli was quite sure that the only reason she could see Luthiel at all was that she knew to look for the aeldari. All three were silent, and watched the skies with halted breaths.

A PDF valkyrie screamed by, the roar of its engines rattling the hab-block’s frame for a couple of seconds. The aircraft hung low in the sky, no doubt sweeping hte ground with a whole host of sensors. It didn’t stop, giving no indication that it had spotted the group, but its path inadvertently gave them a perfect view of the array of rocket pods and multi-lasers underneath. As swiftly as it had come, the valkyrie banked away and zoomed off into the distance to continue its search.

So that was it then, Nochtli thought. The drukhari had dropped all pretense and were actively searching for them. So be it. The vile xenos hadn’t been able to stop them yet, so why should she be concerned that they were putting in any more effort? Really, it just meant that the enemy considered them a threat, and that she should continue doing what she was doing.

But that did not mean it would be easy, Nochtli chided herself. Though of course The Emperor always expected victory from his children, He rarely cleared the path ahead for them. It was the duty of every Battle Sister to meet those challenges eagerly and without hesitation, and to overcome them with equal zeal. Nochtli just had to hope she was equal to this challenge.

“There is no time to waste,” Lytanus said, the moment the valkyrie was out of sight. “The second cluster of activity was believed to be below the upper levels of the city, and so we must depart soon if we wish to arrive in good time. Make what last preparations you need, and then we will begin.”

Neither Nochtli nor Luthiel bothered responding. Satisfied he was understood, Lytanus set to checking his armor and weapons. No matter how impervious auramite was, no material could weather the ordeal of being wedged into a bouncing chimera, under fire, without some sort of damage. Nochtli thought about doing the same, but in truth there was little the process would accomplish. She had never been one for technical matters, even considering that few outside the Martian priesthood were well-versed in the workings of machines. As far as she was concerned, if her gear had worked the night before, then there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t do so today.

And besides, there was really only one thing she was interested in doing: it had been far, far too long since she had last sat down and prayed. Though being immersed in the heat of battle was itself an act of worship for the Adepta Sororitas, there was no substitute for finding a place of quiet and letting one’s mind turn fully to the glory of The Emperor. A devastated hab-block was hardly a cathedrum, but it would have to do. And Nochtli felt like she had not experienced anything close to true quiet for a good few days. She had no doubt that she had acquitted herself well in the preceding battles-that she was yet alive was proof of that-but something about the series of encounters felt...insufficient. Like she had not done enough. Like she was missing something vital.

Nochtli could only hope that a moment of contemplation and devotion could help calm her tumultuous soul. She found a corner of broken rubble somewhat separate from all the rest, and knelt. Eyes closed. She let her mind drift away from her physical body. Or rather, she tried to let it. No matter how slow her breathing, no matter how fervently she forced her thoughts to turn away from the immediate present, she could never quite make it. Nochtli had known some of her sisters to lose themselves entirely into deathly silent reveries or single-minded zeal. Indeed, Nochtli had done so herself, on multiple occasions. But this time, she couldn’t shake that last little shred of worldly attachment. Something was keeping her tied to that bland, wretched hab-block. She pleaded with The Emperor for focus and resolve, but her thoughts always wandered in the end, without fail. It was like she was a bored Administratum official desperate to get their mandated prayer session over with. This shameful display was utterly unbecoming of Nochtli’s station.

The joints of her power armor shifted uncomfortably, and she became aware of every other little unpleasant sensation. Her mood, hardly at its best, soured even further. Whatever she had hoped to get out of this moment, she would not be getting it.

And then, perhaps the only thing that could have made the whole affair worse happened.

“Hey. We need to talk. Now.”

“What do you want?” Nochtli sighed, not yet opening her eyes. She could practically feel Luthiel standing right behind her, looming overhead. It was quite clear the aeldari would not be leaving anytime soon. “What is it this time?”

“You know full well what the matter is,” Luthiel huffed. “You’ve been acting weird, and I need to know what you’re up too, if we’re going to continue doing all this.”

Nochtli sighed, and pushed herself up. Her joints grumbled, as if they didn’t want her to participate in what was no doubt about to happen.

“Are you still upset about the fact that I defended you in the palace?” Once she got a good look at Luthiel, Nochtli realized she should have bothered even asking the question. Luthiel was glowering at her, impressively dour, arms crossed. The ranger couldn’t have looked more upset if she had tried. “What did you want me to do? Lytanus might have attacked you, and I don’t think either of us want that. Emperor’s sake, I knew you people were supposed to be stuck up, but this is something else.”

“This isn’t about-” Luthiel cut herself off, visibly centering herself. “Look, our people have worked together many times in the past, but it has only ever been because we both need something from the other. We don’t do altruism. This galaxy doesn’t do altruism. So my problem is that you seem to insist on being coy about what it is you want from me, and that means I don’t know what to expect from you. So I ask again, what are you planning?”

“Well then, let me ask: why is this such a big deal for you?” Nochtli retorted. Though her voice was plenty raised, she wasn’t angry, not really. Frustrated, more like it. She had thought-hoped-that they might be able to move past this, at least for the sake of expediency. “You were the one who wanted to work with me.”

“Yes, but I thought we had an understanding then, that we just needed each other to get this job done. Clearly, you disagree, or you’re up to something. What’s the thing you humans say? I just want to be on the same page. I want us to have an understanding.”

Nochtli’s eyes narrowed at Luthiel. As far as she was concerned, if anyone was going to be scheming something, it was the aeldari. This, in of itself, would not have been terribly surprising, or concerning. The Imperial Creed taught that xenos were duplicitous by nature. But Luthiel was being bizarrely forthright. And aeldari were not forthright about anything, and certainly not their intentions.

“Look, if I were really up to something I didn’t want you to know about, do you think I would just tell you because you asked me nicely?”

Luthiel scowled, and her eyes flicked downward, involuntarily. As if she hadn’t actually considered this point. Then, there was silence, as neither woman seemed to know how they were supposed to proceed from there. Nochtli found her feet shuffling in place, but the simple motion was a poor substitute for clarity. Every so often, Nochtli risked glancing up at Luthiel, as if to check if the aeldari was done with...whatever this was yet. As it turned out, the other woman was doing much the same. By chance, their eyes met. Even momentary contact was too awkward. Both of their heads slammed downwards. Nochtli realized her cheeks were hot.

“Just...just tell me why you defended me,” Luthiel muttered.

“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Nochtli said automatically, before she could think better of it.

“Yes, but why?” Luthiel insisted.

“That’s it. That’s the reason,” Nochtli said. She jabbed a finger at Luthiel’s chest. The material of the ranger’s breastplate felt strange, even through power armor. “I defended you because I didn’t want you, specifically, to get hurt. That. Is. It.”

“Oh, please.” Luthiel swatted Nochtli’s hand away. “You’re an Imperial. A human. I have never known you lot to care for another human, let alone an alien, selflessly.”

Nochtli opened her mouth to protest, but Luthiel wasn’t about to let her interrupt.

“And then there’s your particular group of lunatics,” the aeldari continued. With every word, she took a step forward. She was smaller than Nochtli, both in size and general presence, but in that moment, her force of will alone was enough to force the seraphim to stumble backwards in time with Luthiel’s advance. This deep into the hab-block, rubble underfoot was becoming a serious hazard. “I may not know much about the Imperium, but I know you and your Battle Sisters are crazy, even by human standards. Don’t even try to pretend that you wouldn’t have shot me on sight if I hadn’t told you about the drukhari. And for that matter, what do you think is going to happen if and when we find your Sisters? Do you think that they will be happy to see me? Do you plan on defending me to them? You all go on and on about faith and purity and whatever, and you expect me to believe that you just wanted to keep me safe? Just because. Well, you didn’t, because you’re one of them.”

“Then maybe I don’t have to be one of them!” Nochtli snapped.

Time froze. Luthiel looked at Nochtli as if she had just seen something truly, utterly incomprehensible. Nochtli could not blame her. The seraphim was trying to examine her own soul, with similar results.

What she had just said was unthinkable, unjustifiable. The Imperial Creed was not a faith taken lightly now could it be discarded for convenience. This was only more true for the Adepta Sororitas. There was no way in which going against the faith of her Sisters, even saying it, was not the next best thing to heresy, and certainly not for...for this. Nochtli was horrified with herself. No, she thought, the word ‘horrified’ wasn’t anywhere close to describing the profound, sickening rot she felt deep within her soul. In every moment before on this benighted world, when she had compromised with her faith, she had told herself that it was only for necessity, a temporary measure to defeat a greater foe. But this...for this there was no excuse. What she had said was open, flagrant opposition to her sworn Sisters and beliefs, for no reason other than herself. There were orders among the Adepta Sororitas that would demand she join the repentia for far less. At the very, very least, she should recant everything she had just said at once.

But then, those words were the only thing so far that had given Luthiel any pause. To go back on those words now risked undoing any progress made to get the aeldari to stop being, well, herself. And in the heat of the moment, Nochtli found that to be a far more unacceptable reality.

And so, despite the lessons that years and years of battle and Schola Progenium indoctrination had drilled into her, despite deeply personal oaths she had made to her Sisters, Nochtli remained silent. The silence surrounded her, pressed in on her. Judged her. It made her acutely aware of every failing and mistake and lapse she had ever made, and made her believe there were rather more of them than there actually were. And yet she did not speak.

“Thank you.”

“Huh?” Trapped within her own mind and inner turmoil, Nochtli had been totally unprepared to hear someone else’s voice. In that state, she had not been able to process the words themselves, and so reacted to the disruption alone.

“I said thank you. I’m not going to say it again.” From the sound of it, these words had cost Luthiel a tremendous amount of effort.

“For what?” Nochtli was still recovering. The question was genuine.

“For defending me, you dense-” Luthiel let out a long sigh to calm herself. 

“It seems I...might have been mistaken about your intentions,” the aeldari grumbled. “I will admit that it is a good thing you were willing to stand up for me. It...it seems I am not yet willing to get killed for no reason.”

“Oh, is that so. What happened to all that talk about me being untrustworthy and stupid?” Nochtli asked. A self-satisfied smirk spread across her face. All thoughts of heresy and failings were forgotten. “What happened to that bit in the Chariot where you were all set on giving up?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Luthiel spun around very quickly, almost suspiciously so. She waved a dramatic, defensive hand. “I’m just stating simple facts. There’s nothing else to it. Just forget about it.”

“Oh, but of course,” Nochtli called after her, mock-serious. “You definitely didn’t say anything, just now.”

Luthiel’s final response was to make an approximation of a very human, very rude, gesture. Nochtli just laughed, and shook her head. In a moment, Luthiel had vanished from sight. That business concluded, Nochtli turned to finally finish her prayers. But as she didn, her eyes caught another sight.

She saw Lytanus at the edge of the hab-block, standing perfectly still. There could be no mistaking what he was doing, as those red eye lenses were focused straight on Nochtli, and where Luthiel had been.

Watching.

...

There was a comprehensive treatise of Imperial architecture, popular in the Scholas and other academic circles, that famously claimed ‘all Imperial worlds were built upon their own history.’ When brought up by Schola instructors, this phrase was interpreted as a sign of the importance and primacy of human culture. It was used as a lesson on how vital it was to appreciate the sacrifices of the countless generations to come before the student, and how the work of every Imperial servant, no matter how lowly, was necessary for the continued survival of The Emperor and the Imperium at large. So popular was this reading, in fact, that it had become the accepted truth. In some circles, that quote was used as the next best thing to a religious invocation, to exhort droves of menial workers to ever harder work.

But the man who had originally written that book had meant the quote rather more literally. Most Imperial worlds were truly ancient things, many with histories dating back to long, long before even the Great Heresy. As the millennia ground ever on, not even the grandest, most resilient structures could resist entropy forever. A great deal of effort was put into keeping many of these structures from catastrophe, but there was far, far more infrastructure in need of repair than there was the capability to do so. It would not be incorrect to say that the Imperium at large was in a constant state of decay. But that did not mean the Imperium stopped expanding, or that people stopped needing places to live and work and build. And so, where old, crumbling structures couldn’t just be reused, or whole districts became totally unusable, humanity simply built up, using the very buildings they were abandoning as the foundations for the next. There was almost no Imperial city, on any planet, that did not have at least some form of vast undercity, where gangs and worse roamed. And that wasn’t even counting towering hive-cities or shrine worlds with labyrinthine catacombs, full of thousands of years of honored dead. 

Alken III was no different. The capital city, as did all the others, rose up miles from the surface. Even the planet’s own records weren’t entirely sure how many levels each of the fortress-cities held. Close to the top, the places where most citizens lived and toiled, were manufactorums and shrines and administratum offices, not to mention endless rows and towers of hab-blocks. But below those, things became murkier, and altogether less sanctioned activities arose. Whole levels were given over to maintenance, or storage were among the better defined and recorded. But in some levels-many, really-reality far outpaced anything on official records. Some were simply lost to all memory. There, no proper Imperial servant had any knowledge of what transpired, nor should they have any desire to learn. And yet many of such levels had once been home to all manner of good, honest work. Deep into the colossal fortress-cities, whole manufactorums still stood, the thousands of loyal Imperial servants who worked and died there, not to mention all their deeds and accomplishments, forgotten. Down in the dark, those few who still survived became ever more degenerate, falling to gangs or vile mutations. Up above, the active, recorded citizenry thought nothing of this. These levels were nought but the foundations of the city.

Alken III was built upon its own history.

But those levels were there, along with all the unknown dangers that lurked therein. Such thoughts were fresh in Nochtli’s mind as the group descended. She was not ashamed to admit that as gloom closed in around them, a pervasive, lurking trepidation came with it. It turned out that even the upper levels of the capital city, the levels that were supposed to be well documented and free of deviancy, were far from inviting. Under a vast, metal ceiling that seemed perpetually too low, rows of dimly lit buildings sprawled. In many ways, this level was not so different from the surface. That was to say, the hab-blocks and offices were in no worse state than they were above. There were no obvious signs of major criminal activity, at least nothing beyond acceptable levels. 

But then, there weren’t signs of anyone at all.

Perhaps it was because Nochtli now knew why all the people were missing. It certainly didn’t help. Everything about the sub-level seemed oppressive, darker. The latter was quite literally true, as half-working lumens offered only a flickering illumination that shrouded distant streets in secrecy. And then there was the silence. The blasted silence. Though the city above was empty, the silence was somehow more pronounced down there. It was almost loud with the utter lack of noise.

Nochtli swiftly decided she had no desire to spend any more time in this place than was absolutely necessary. Nothing good could come of it. And yet Lytanus had made it clear that they must go deeper to find the second signal.

The custodian’s presence helped. The tiniest fragment of His will was present in Lytanus, and so in some small way, His power was present here. It filled Nochtli with confidence and faith, kept the darkness at bay. It was as if the gloom couldn’t quite find purchase on the auramite. In her mind, Nochtli was quite sure the armor wasn’t actually glowing, but her eyes kept on trying to insist it was. If ever Nochtli wavered, then all she had to do was look to the gilded titan, and she would be centered once more, at least a little bit.

But that did not mean there was no danger, and they all knew it. As the party descended, their weapons remained primed and ready every step of the way. Lytanus’s presence made for a small island of safety and courage, but beyond that island, darkness and fear yet reigned. And no matter how radiated the custodian might be, the effect was only ever temporary. When they passed, inevitably, the shadows crept back in with a hunter’s glee. Nochtli would not let herself grow complacent. She was quite sure this place did not want them. And she, in turn, did not want it.

And it would only get worse.

So resolved, the group descended. The highest sub-levels were accessed via well marked and maintained lifts and service hatches. But further down, they were given a rather clear warning of what was to come: they found hatch seals long degraded, stairwells half-crumbled, and less-than-sanctioned sigils painted onto lift doors. The levels these portals concealed lived up to the expectations. Fewer and fewer buildings were in anything close to good order. Colossal generatorums crackled with the dregs of unused power. Scorch marks and craters described truly ancient battle sites, their origins lost to time. Walls and supports let out worrisome groans as the party passed. The gloom grew into true dark.

And then, all of a sudden, the darkness was pushed back. Large lumen-banks, fresh and shining, were conspicuously placed along an old street, lighting a meandering path through crumbled and decaying hab-blocks. There was no way they were not new, and therefore relevant to their search. Supporting this idea was the clear sound of distant gunfire. The crackle of lasguns was overlaid by the thump of autocannons and more exotic munitions. But above it all was the off-tempo roar of massed bolter fire.

At that sound, Nochtli surged forward, following the lumen-lit path. The PDF did not use bolters, at least not in those numbers. It was a sound she was well used to hearing, a sound that was fundamentally engraved in her mind and forever associated with glorious battle in the name of the God-Emperor.

For the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, Nochtli allowed herself hope. She heard Luthiel and Lytanus running behind her, but even the custodian’s superhuman speed couldn’t keep up with Nochtli’s pure zeal. As she got closer, and the clamor of battle got louder, another sound rose up: a chorus of voices, of many women singing songs that Nochtli knew by heart. She pushed the servos of her power armor to their limits, crashing through the old street so fast that her feet barely lingered on the stone. She felt the moments fly by. Nothing else mattered. Everything was focused on that song.

And then she burst over a ridge, and saw an incredible sight.

Dozens of PDF troopers were fighting their way up a mountain of stone that must have once been an office building of some sort. The trooper moved as a living tide, practically swarming up from one artificial embankment to the next. Las-beams flickered, and grenade launchers spat shrapnel up the hill. Alongside them, a trio of sentinel walkers stomped by, belching autocannon and plasma fire. At the base of the hill was a makeshift command center, where a clump of officers silently observed the battle. None of this mattered to Nochtli. At the top of the rubble-hill was the remains of the office building, a ruined skeleton of a structure. And within stood nearly twenty women, singing their defiance at their attackers.

Nochtli could not help but stand and watch in awe as the survivors of the Order of the Twilight Serpent fought to stand their ground. Most were standard Battle Sisters, though it was hard to call a highly-trained warrior clad in ceramite and wielding the best weapons the Imperium had to offer ‘standard.’ In tune with the hymns they sang at the top of their lungs, the sisters poured brutally effective bolter fire down into the PDF. Mixed in with them were a few retributors, decimating whole sections of the PDF advance with heavy bolter shells and multi-melta beams. Behind the gun line stood a sister holding aloft the Order’s standard. Despite everything these women must have been through, the banner appeared to be as untouched and radiant as it had when it was taken off of the Chariot.

On the right side of the rubble hill, A couple squads of PDF managed to slip in under the Sisters’ fire. So freed, the soldiers began to stand up, and began a headlong rush towards the firing line. For the briefest moment, it seemed that the sisters had not noticed this new threat, and that they may not be able to react quickly enough to stave off disaster. But the PDF would not be so fortunate. At some unseen signal, the firing line parted to let four figures through. Two were zephyrim, the close-assault counterparts to the seraphim, bearing pistols and power swords. One was a celestian, a veteran of the order, firing pin-point accurate bolt shots as she ran. But at the head was a woman in ornate, gleaming ceramite, short white hair waving as she took huge strides forward. Cannonnes Centehua Puremind thrust out her power sword, let out a piercing battle cry, and her little party charged. Centehua hit the PDF with tremendous, righteous force. The sword lashed out with precise, deadly motions, striking down a target each time. In her other hand, a condemnor boltgun spat death with short barks. In return, the PDF could do nothing to touch her. Centehua swatted aside any attempt at retaliation with savage ease. Then the zephyrims’ jump packs ignited, and the two women soared overhead Centehua. They crashed down in the midst of the PDF, firing their pistols and swinging swords even before they landed. Though the zephyrim could not match the tally their cannoness was accumulating, the sheer shock and momentum of their assault was a force unto itself.

The threat of breakthrough was shattered. The two squads of PDF scattered back down the hill, and only a handful of them actually made it.

This tiny skirmish was an inspiring sight, to be sure, and the other sisters were making a valiant, and rather effective, stand, but Nochtli could tell all too well that things were not good for the Order. To an untrained observer, the fact that the Sisters were mostly taking single shots, each one carefully aimed, would have been a sign that they were disdainful of their opponents, that they didn’t consider the PDF troopers worth the honor of a full barrage of bolter fire. Certainly, the hymns and oaths the women sang seemed to support this idea. If one knew what to look for, though, there was something rather more worrisome behind the front the Sisters were trying to present. While the Adepta Sororitas were certainly highly trained and effective warriors, their style of warfare was not exactly known for subtlety or restraint. They would not hold themselves back without good reason, and in this case Nochtli was worried she knew why:

The Sisters were conserving ammunition. None of them were risking a shot unless they knew it would hit. They were getting desperate.

And they were hardly safe from retribution, either. While the torrent of lasgun fire was not terribly threatening to the Sisters’ ceramite, there were rather more dangerous weapons in play. Struggling forward under the weight of bolter rounds, one of the sentinels managed to steady itself long enough for its autocannon to thump out a pair of shots. One of the high-calibre shells slammed into a sister, blowing her back in more pieces than she had started with. Elsewhere, a krak grenade lofted into the firing line, sundering the ceramite and arm of another warrior. A hospitaller rushed forward, and began tending to the fallen woman, but even if she could be saved, her role in the battle was over.

Nochtli only realized how absorbed she had become in watching the battle when Lytanus placed a hand on her shoulder to bring her back to reality. She shook her head clear, focusing herself.

“They can’t hold out,” Nochtli said. It was not a question. She looked down from the ridge at the battle once more, and the waves of PDF troopers appeared altogether more dangerous than they had before. No matter how much damage was being done to the PDF as they tried to push up the rubble hill, Vesh’sai’s concoction gave them impossible, nigh-suicidal courage.

“No,” Lytanus agreed. 

“So what’s next, then?” Luthiel asked, from just behind the custodian.

In response, Lytanus hefted his axe-polearm, and ignited the power field with a twitch of a finger. The crackle of energy cast his auramite helm in a strange light, in the half-gloom. He turned to look at the aeldari.

“The fun part.”

With that, Lytanus leapt off the ridge, landing hard no more than twenty yards behind the PDF’s impromptu command post. He had crossed the distance before any of the officers could begin to react. WIth a sweep of his axe, the matter was rendered irrelevant. He didn’t even pause before launching himself into the troopers’ back lines.

Nochtli frowned. Watching the custodian work, she decided that she had been rather derelict in her duty to the Emperor, of late. It was time to fix that.

Her jumppack roared, and she was airborne. Nochtli took up the war hymns of her sisters with full throat, air whipping through her dark hair, and she was a seraphim one more. Her heart soared with her body. This was what she was supposed to be, and it had been far too long. As her arc crested, and she fell down towards the mass of PDF, she pulled both pistols from their holsters, aimed, and unleashed holy fire. Her Sisters up on the gun line might have been conservative with their shots, but Nochtli had no such compunctions. She lashed out with zealous abandon, emptying nearly half of the clips before she even landed. PDF troopers began to scatter. They were too slow.

When Nochtli hit the ground, her power armor absorbed most of the shock, making the impact no worse than a sharp jolt. The troopers nearby, on the other hand, were far less fortunate. The nearest were blown backwards by the small shockwave and the backwash of the jumppack. Those furthest back were staggered at best, knocked from their feet at worst. All were buffeted by a spray of dirt and heat. At no point did Nochtli cease her attack, pounding everything in the immediate vicinity with her pistols. Seconds later, Nochtli lifted off once more, leaving the PDF with nothing but dust clouds and rapidly vanishing flames. A few ruby-red lasbeams chased Nochtli into the air, but they were naught but futile protestations. A trooper with a plasma gun took aim at Nochtli. Then, with no fanfare whatsoever, the woman crumpled. Nochtli heard the humming report of Luthiel’s rifle from behind.

With Nochtli jetting around the battlefield, Lytanus barreling through the enemy like a golden meteor, and Luthiel sniping anyone vaguely important-looking the moment they showed their head, the three of them soon buckled the back lines of the PDF. The glassy-eyed troopers turned to face them. By then, the battle sisters could not fail to take notice of what was going on. Their hymns redoubled in volume and fervour, until the song flowed over the entire battlefield, all but drowning out the gunfire. The battle sisters began to advance down the hill, blasting away anything that dared stand before them. The retributor with the multi-melta took aim at one of the sentinels. Twin beams of superheated gas scorched the air, cutting through the walker’s leg with ease. Rivulets of molten metal ran like water, and the rest of the sentinel crashed uncontrolled into the rubble, its plasma cannon firing away at random. The next shot of the multi-melta punched a glowing hole through the sentinel’s cockpit, and then it was silent. On the other side of the line, Centehua and the zephyrim fell upon another sentinel, their power swords hacking and stabbing at anything exposed, until the machine tipped over backwards under its own weight. The zephyrim had blasted off in search of new prey before it hit the ground.

At this point, the PDF at last began to fall back, discipline or fear overcoming Vesh’sai’s manipulations. They retreated in as good order as they could, but all this meant was that they presented their backs to the sisters, and somehow managed to make easier targets for the three warriors behind them. What followed was swift, brutal, and final.

When it was over, the sisters let out a great, rolling cheer, full of thanks to The Emperor and His blessings. Nochtli found herself joining them. After a moment of jubilation, Centehua started to give orders to her women. It was not hard to guess what. The wounded sisters-most of them, to some degree-collected themselves as best they could, and went to the hospitaller for examination. All checked their weapons, offering prayers to machine spirits, and confirming ammo counts. The few left began sifting through the dead, giving honors to the fallen sisters and unceremoniously piling up the many PDF corpses. It was grim work, but done swiftly and without complaint.

Once she decided everything was as it should be, Cannoness Centehua turned around and locked eyes with Nochtli. There was no chance it was accidental. Nochtli knew that look well: the narrowed eyes, the stern tilt of her lips, the stoic impatience. The cannonness wished to be attended, and there would be no argument. The instinct to respond immediately was deeply ingrained into Nochtli’s psyche, and she saw no reason to resist.

But then, the seraphim paused. With a flash of alarm, she wondered where Luthiel was. The PDF were gone, the once crowded battlefield empty. If Luthiel was out in the open, there was no way she could be missed. Canonesses of the Adepta Sororitas were the leaders of the Orders, and that meant they exemplified every tenet of faith and philosophy that their Order represented. Hatred of the xenos was absolutely no exception. If Centehua saw Nochtli with an aeldari, there was no telling what would happen.

Or rather, Nochtli knew exactly what would happen. It just didn’t bear thinking about.

But when Nochtli turned to look for Luthiel, she found no sign of the other woman. Another fear hit Nochtli, and her eyes scanned the ridge line frantically. Nothing. Despite herself, Nochtli suddenly found herself gripped by a horrible, irrational terror: had Luthiel decided after all that it was too dangerous to be around the Battle Sisters, and that it was safer to disappear entirely?

Had Luthiel abandoned her?

This, it seemed, was a far more chilling possibility than anything that had happened so far.

But there was no time for worry. The other sisters had begun to take notice of just who the newcomers were. A peal of excited chatter rose up from the top of the hill, and then Nochtli had no choice but to push her worries to the back of her mind, and ascended the rubble to meet with her Cannoness.

A murmur, excited and relieved, quickly passed through the crowd. A few approached Nochtli, some clasping her shoulder in sisterhood, to express their joy that she had survived. All thanked The Emperor profusely for their good fortune. In return, Nochtli offered smiles and her own thanks to the Master of Mankind, that she could come back to carry on the endless fight in His name. These were her Sisters, women that she had spent her entire life fighting, training, suffering, and living alongside from a very young age. For all intents and purposes, they were the people that she had grown up with, her friends and functional family.

Never had she felt more distant from them. All her gestures of friendship felt empty. Hollow. Fake.

“Sister Nochtli, you have returned to us,” Centehua said, as if this were simply a base expectation, and nothing to be particularly worked up about. The deep lines wrought into her face by the twin burdens of age and command only made her appear more severe.

“Yes, Cannones,” Finally at the top of the hill, Nochtli saluted as smartly as she could. “I only regret that I could not come sooner. I was...delayed.”

“I’m sure you were,” Centehua snorted. “You’ll have to tell me how. And I see you’ve brought someone rather unexpected with you.”

Panic spiked in Nochtli's heart, momentarily, until she heard the heavy footfalls coming up the hill behind her, and the sharp intake of the other sisters’ breath. Evidently, Lytanus had been waiting for the right moment to approach. A wave or religious ecstasy passed over the sisters as the custodian went by. None of them had ever been in the presence of such a grand and holy figure before and, evidently, few of them had been quite prepared for such an event. There was effusive, wild praise to The Emperor, certainly. More than a few sisters fell to their knees, holy joy pouring forth from their faces as tears. Some simply stood completely still, overwhelmed by the custodian’s presence. Lytanus, for his part, didn’t seem to even notice any of this. He came to a stop before Centehua, far enough down the hill that he did not loom over the much smaller mortal woman. He inclined his head. There were few enough beings in the Imperium that commanded any sort of respect from the Adeptus Custodes, and being a cannoness was about as close as one could get without being one of the most powerful people in the entire galaxy.

“Greetings, Honored Cannoness. I am Lytanus Chiem, of the Aquilan Shield. I am here as Sister Nochtli’s sworn guardian as she executes her destined duty to save Terra itself.”

These words sent another ripple of excitement and confusion through the assembled sisters. This was, by any real standard, a shocking, borderline absurd, thing for anyone to say. Impossibly presumptuous, at the very least. That any one person, let alone a lowly Battle Sister, would save Terra? Such a statement could draw the attention of the Inquisition, at worst. But none would dare gainsay the word of a custodian. After all, the Adepta Sororitas defined their every action by the will of The Emperor, and what was a custodian but His right hand?

“Is that so,” Centehua replied. There was a dubious tilt to her eyebrows. “At any rate, I thank you for all that you must have done to bring her here, my lord. Now, I would talk to my subordinate. Privately.”

This was not a request, nor did it sound like one. Even Lytanus Chiem had no choice but to nod assent. Without another word, Centehua spun on one foot and strode into the office building. Nochtli jumped to follow. She knew far, far better than to keep her cannoness waiting. 

The office building had likely been difficult to navigate in its prime, but with the aid of whatever ordinance had destroyed it, the ruins had become positively maze-like. With no further fanfare or explanation, Centehua led her to what was likely one the office of an overseer or other high-ranking adept. With one door, relatively solid walls, and no other obvious points of entry, it was probably the most secure room in the building, or at least as secure as anything in such a place could be. Evidently, this had been enough for Centehua to claim the room as her personal room and command center. The room was not large, and partially full of dust and debris, but Centehua had filled it out with maps, data slates, and far too little supplies and ammunition. It was quite far from comfortable, but it was all that could be found, Nochtli supposed. Two women in power armor did not fit terribly well in that space, to be sure.

“Close the door,” Centehua commanded. Nochtli hastened to comply, and then they were cut off from the rest of the world. “Now, what is this about you saving Holy Terra?”

“I’m...not certain, Cannoness,” Nochtli admitted. “But Lytanus-Lord Chiem, I mean-says that his shield host has scryers that look for people who can stave off some great threat to Terra. He says that they then find and protect those people until they do whatever it is. I guess...I guess those scryers must have found me.”

Nochtli felt ridiculous saying all of this. She must have sounded like some crazed, backwater preacher, drunk on the tiniest scraps of power and deluded of their own importance. And with the cannoness on the other side of a large table, the taller woman looking down upon her, Nochtli had the distinct feeling she was taking part in an interrogation.

But instead of rebuking the seraphim, Centehua leaned back against the wall, and crossed her arms. She scowled, deep in thought. This went on for sometime, in total silence, but Nochtli didn’t dare interrupt. Only after a couple whole minutes of waiting did Centehua at last deliver her verdict.

“Well, I’m hardly one to doubt the word of a custodian. I suppose we must thank The Emperor for honoring a child of our order with such a sacred duty,” she said, completely genuine. “I will pray for your success, and ask only that you honor the Order by serving Him well. That said, I don’t suppose you have any idea what the custodian expects you to do.”  
“I think I do, canoness,” Nochtli said. “Earlier, I actually encountered the leader of the drukhari that are behind the PDF’s betrayal, and...”

Perhaps it was the fact that Nochtli had not truly gotten to rest until then. Perhaps it was something else. She would never be quite sure. But at that precise moment, deep, primal emotions that had been barely held back by a wall of discipline and activity at last burst forth. Nochtli’s legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees.

“I was scared. Emperor forgive me, I was so scared.” She covered her face with her hands in a futile attempt to hide her pitiful emotions. It was shameful and humiliating beyond all measure.

But then, the last thing she expected happened.

Cannoness Centehua Puremind walked over, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Despite the hardened ceramite, despite the woman’s warrior bearing, that hand was endlessly, undeniably gentle.

“It’s alright, Sister Nochtli. Feel no shame. If the enemies of humanity were not so terrible, they would have been defeated long ago.”

“But I...”

“‘But’ nothing,” Centehua insisted, cutting Nochtli off. “The Emperor does not need you to be a mindless automata. You are an ordained Sister of the Adepta Sororitas. A human. If you could not feel fear, it would make you no better than a mindless beast. That you can feel so strongly is only a sign that you have a proper understanding of your role in the galaxy. What matters is that you conquer your fear, and use it to inspire yourself to greater deeds in His name.”

After a few moments more, the tears that Nochtli had only just noticed finally stopped.

“Good, much better,” Centehua said. “Now stand, Sister Nochtli. We have much to discuss. What did you learn from this xenos warlord?”

With slow, less than assured motions, Nochtli pushed herself to her feet. She took a long, deep breath, and then another. It did not calm her, not entirely, but it began the slow process of recalling her dignity and pride as a warrior. It was something.

“They have an army of abominations, or at least they’re in the process of making one out of this planet’s populace. I can’t begin to comprehend why, but he wants to use that army to invade Terra. To do that, he needs-”

“The sword,” Centehua said, finishing the sentence for Nochtli.

And in that moment, with those words, any remaining, fleeting shreds of hope that Nochtli might have had, that this was all some terrible misunderstanding, were destroyed for good. Cannoness Centehua knew about the sword, which meant the sword was real, which meant that the Order truly had been harboring a xenos artifact for untold centuries, perhaps millenia.

As if to punctuate this dread realization, Centehua undid a simple lock on a dust-covered cabinet, and opened the doors. From within, she retrieved a long bundle, swaddled entirely in ancient cloth and covered with decaying purity seals. Centehua carefully laid it out on the table. Then, with careful-almost reverent-hands, she began to unwrap it, scrap by scrap. Only when this painstaking process was done, and the object within all that wrapping uncovered, did Nochtli get a good look at the supposed cause of all this trouble.

The sword known as Karon’vein, the Shadow’s Reach, was impressive. Even Nochtli had to admit that. The blade was a single, long piece of some stake-white material that certainly wasn’t metal of any kind. The whole length was etched with strange aeldari runes that seemed to catch the light in ways that confused the senses. It was perfectly straight, almost needle-like, but the base boasted multiple, curving protrusions. The hilt was made of boxy pieces that no doubt housed all manner of arcane machinery. The grip was curved, and even it possessed a measure of undeniable artistry.

“How? Why?” Nochtli asked. There could be no doubt what she meant.

“I don’t know. Not really,” Centehua admitted. “This sword has been with the Order for a very, very long time. Even our oldest records give no explanation for how it was obtained, nor why it has been preserved for so long, nor why its identity was concealed. Perhaps the Order feared Inquisitorial censure. I don’t know. Even I, as a cannoness, was not aware of its origins until relatively recently. I know nothing else of it.”

“When...why did you bring it down here?” Nochtli asked.

“The night before we landed, I was given a vision. It was terribly cryptic, but I was left certain that one of our relics had a role to play on this world. I chose this one because...well, because I thought it seemed the most likely to be important, given its strange origins. It was a hunch. A guess, really. I trust you know more.”

“The drukhari claim it can be used to tear holes in their webway to go to insert an army wherever they want, on whatever world they want. Including Terra. Including the Palace.”

“I see,” Centehua said. She leaned over the table, staring at the sword, as if the weight of these words were physically pressing her down. “Then I suppose we must keep this sword out of the xenos’s hands.”

“Can’t it just be kept here, with you? With the rest of the order?” Nochtli protested. “Why not just destroy the thing? Is it not our duty to undo the work of the alien wherever we find it?”

“No, it cannot. And no, we cannot,” Centehua said. “Do you have any idea how many generations of perfectly devout Sisters chose not to destroy this blade? There must be a reason, and so we must assume that it is too dangerous to recklessly damage something so powerful. As for the Order...”

At that, Centehua’s voice trailed off, as if she did not want to say what came next. Nochtli could not imagine what it took to make such a veteran warrior uncomfortable. It did not make her any more eager to hear the words.

“Nochtli, what you witnessed was not the first time we have been attacked by the PDF, nor will it be the last. They never send much at us, not at once, but they keep on coming. We have repelled them each time, but it has only gotten harder. We are running out of ammunition. We can’t treat all the wounded. We’ve been forced to abandon far too many sisters, leaving them with only The Emperor’s Mercy. Nochtli, there simply aren’t enough of us left.”

Centehua took a deep breath before continuing. Evidently, this had been as difficult to say as it had been to hear. But she recovered quickly enough.

“No matter how much faith we have, if things continue as they are, we will not be able to protect this sword for much longer. This is simply fact.”

These words hit Nochtli like a hammer, driving out all the breath in her body, leaving her empty and disoriented. Never had she heard the Cannoness admit weakness. She had never really known that the woman could. The notion of the Adepta Sororitas acknowledging the inevitability of a defeat was entirely antithetical to their purpose and faith. In other times, Nochtli might even have been angered by such an admission. Now, though, her inner self was in too much turmoil for such consistency.

Either way, Centehua continued before she could respond.

“But most importantly, this is not our burden to bear, not any longer. If what the custodian says is true, then The Emperor has sent you this task, and no one else. You must take the blade, sister Nochtli, and keep it from those who would do Terra and the Golden Throne harm. You, and no one else.”

With those words, Centehua lifted Karon’vein off the table with both hands and presented it to Nochtli, as might a squire to their master. Her own hands shaking only a little, Nochtli took the weapon. She did nothing but stare at it for a few, long moments. It was strangely light in her hands, for all its considerable size. Belatedly, Nochtli realized that she felt no particular shock or revulsion at holding a xenos weapon. This fact was more alarming than many things in recent days.

But there was no time for self-recrimination, nor doubt. The Cannoness was, as she so often was, correct. Nochtli did indeed seem to have a duty to protect Terra, and that was far, far more important that any matter of self. The sword was hers now, for better or for worse.

“Now, onto the other matter. Why are you travelling with an aeldari?”

In response to this sudden question, all Nochtli could do was make a largely incoherent, confused sound that could only be an admission of guilt.

“Oh, don’t be so shocked,” Centehua sighed. “I’ve picked out my fair share of xenos infiltrators over the years, and that aeldari isn’t half as clever as they think. The other sisters haven’t noticed yet, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I decided I should give you the chance to explain yourself, first. I would recommend being honest.”

When Cannoness Cenethua requested an answer, Nochtli knew better than to deny her for even a second.

“Her name is Luthiel, she is a ranger from one of the craftworlds. She rescued me after the initial ambush, and told me about the drukhari. It seems that the painbringers killed all of her companions. She has been...helping me since.”

Centehua simply stared at Nochtli, examining her. It was all the seraphim could do to stay strong in the face of such critical eyes. She had the distinct feeling that quite a lot rested on her ability to do so.

“I see,” Centehua said, at long last. “Well, this Luthiel obviously can’t be trusted in the long term, but do you believe that she will be of enough assistance to keep around, for the time being?”

“Yes, I do,” Nochtli responded, immediately.

“Very well. Then tell her to stop skulking about. I will not have those who purport to work alongside me hiding their actions in the shadows.”

Nochtli swallowed, hard. A great deal of tension flowed out of her all at once. It was not a pleasant experience.

“At any rate, you are dismissed, Sister Nochtli. Get some rest. There is a great deal of work to do.”

...

Nocthli left Centehua’s makeshift office with her heart pounding far harder than she had initially thought. Long, fulfilling breaths eluded her. After only a few steps, Nochtli was forced to lean against a crumbling pillar in order to rest, and allow the residual panic to work its way out of her system. 

This process of calming down was not helped when Luthiel suddenly emerged from the dust-wreathed shadows. Nochtli jumped. There was no hiding it.

“What are you doing?” Nochtli hissed. “What if you were seen?”

“Oh, please,” Luthiel scoffed. “Those idiots were too busy fawning over Lytanus to notice much of anything. And besides, I thought it important to follow you. As we’ve noted, you humans tend to be rather unreasonable about aliens, and associating with them. I wondered...I feared your cannoness might punish you for that. Severely, I mean.”

“You were...worried about me?” Nochtli raised a bemused eyebrow.

“I-no, of course not, I-” Luthiel flinched, taken aback. She turned away, and Nochtli could have sworn that she saw the aeldari’s pale cheeks go red. “Fine, if that’s how you wish to think about it, then...fine. I was concerned that an ally was going to be harmed. That’s it.”

“I see,” Nochtli chuckled.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, after that. It was something that Nochtli had grown used to, since the two of them had met. But where once such silences had been awkward and full of the tension of barely restrained-violence, this time was different. It was hard for Nochtli to define, not something she was used to thinking about. It was...nice, she thought. Almost calming. As the moment dragged on, a part of Nochtli’s mind decided, without conscious thought. that it wouldn’t be so bad if those long seconds carried on forever. 

But in those times, peace of any kind rarely lasted long. The people of the galaxy internalized this fact, accepted it on a deep, fundamental level. Both women knew that they must get back to the terrible, bloody business soon.

“I don’t suppose your canonness told you what you’re doing next?” Luthiel asked.

“We continue,” Nochtli said.


	7. Actions and Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter one, I think. Also probably not my best work, but ah well. Hope you all enjoy, regardless.

The relay station loomed silent on the horizon, a grim monolith of stone slabs, nests of tangled wiring, arrays of broad dishes, and gothic buttresses. It was hardly the most impressive building in the city’s skyline, nor was its function terribly important, in the grand scheme of things. Under normal operation, no one of a rank anyone cared about would be present in such a building, unless they had done something to offend their superiors. It would typically be far beneath the notice of the Adepta Sororitas, little more than a broad tactical concern on a strategium hololith.

But now, a full sixteen Sisters of Battle, their cannoness, an aeldari ranger, and an allarus custodian crouched on the periphery of the relay station’s sight lines, preparing for an assault on the supposedly unimportant building. For a force that formidable, it should have been a relatively trivial affair. Relay stations like this one were rarely guarded by the deadliest, front-line troops, and had only minimal automated defenses. There would be risks, of course, but nothing outside of acceptable margins. And yet, Nochtli could not help but feel a worrying pit in her gut, one that refused to go away no matter how many entreaties to logic and faith she made to herself.

This was far from normal operation, after all.

“What is the matter, Sister Nochtli?”

Nochtli had almost missed Centehua approaching. There was hardly an excuse: all the other sisters were busy going through last minute checks on their weapons and gear, making the space relatively quiet, save for mechanical clicks and clacks. Nochtli had separated herself from the rest of them in an effort to be alone with her thoughts, meaning that there had been nothing physical to conceal the cannoness. She frowned. She had never had so obvious a lapse in attention. Something was seriously wrong with her.

And then there was the matter of how Nochtli had thought she had appeared unassuming enough to avoid warranting too much attention. But Nochtli had been learning some rather unwelcome things about how well she could conceal her emotions, in recent days.

“I was just thinking about...” Nochtli paused herself. Despite embarrassment, there was no reason not to be forthright with Centehua. So, she corrected herself. “I was concerned about the attack.”

“You doubt the wisdom of this operation?” Centehua asked. By the hierarchy of hte order, Nochtli had no right whatsoever to second-guess the plans of her superiors, but the cannoness looked more curious than angry.

“Of course not, Cannoness. I understand why the relay must be destroyed.” Nochtli replied hastily. In this regard, she was telling the truth. The relay station was a very reasonable target. Evidently, Centehua had been eyeing the station for some time and the arrival of reinforcements, meager though they may be, had been enough for her to act. The remnants of the Order had not been idle after the ambush, gathering as much intelligence as they could, even while under relentless attack from the PDF. From what they had learned, it seemed that this relay station served as the main operational communications hub for the PDF. If it could be neutralized, the ability of the enemy to track and attack them so relentlessly would be severely hampered, at least for a while. If successful, it would give the Order time to regroup and get some desperately needed rest. And, hopefully, give Nochtli a bit more space to operate freely in the city.

But even so...

“It’s just that something feels...wrong about this, Cannoness,” Nochtli said. “I’m not sure what, exactly, but...but I know what I feel. Perhaps...shouldn’t there be more defenses? Surely the enemy knows we might come for this place.”

Indeed, the path up from the bowels of the city and across the surface had hardly been trivial: great care had been taken to avoid using any path that could be regularly patrolled, extending travel time considerably. It was not easy to move a procession of heavily armored warriors quietly, after all. Once on the surface, they had airborne threats to contend with: valkyries scoured the skies, and the pervasive sense that someone was watching them was everywhere. It was a fraught process, full of close calls and hurried backtracking. But the Battle Sisters live up to their reputation as calm, competent warriors: they took their time, and did what needed to be done. There was no reason to believe they had been seen by any enemy.

And yet, when at last they were in sight of the relay station, all signs of observation and defense from the enemy vanished. The valkyries seemed to avoid the airspace overhead, and the streets were free from patrols. The lack of activity stood out, if fact. Nochtli could not help but find it suspicious.

“Is that so?” Centehua asked. She did not sound convinced. “That aeldari of yours reported that there were few enough enemies within the relay, and no hint of ambush. I do not know why, but you were the one who insisted the aeldari be allowed to scout the way ahead. Do you now doubt her word?”

“No, I don’t,” Nochtli replied. This she said quickly, if only to head off even the suggestion of the idea that she might not support Luthiel’s presence. After the meeting in Centehua’s ‘office,’ the cannoness had told the other Sister to tolerate the aeldari’s presence. Tolerate, and nothing more. Wherever the ranger went, she was followed by open glares of revulsion and horror. Presently, she was arguing with the celestian, Sister Teicui, about something that Nochtli couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, both women felt quite strongly about it.

It was a worrisome sight. Nothing she knew about Luthiel suggested the aeldari would suddenly back down on much of anything. And much the same could be said of the Adepta Sororitas, as a whole. Little good could come of two intractable ideologies clashing. Perhaps too late, Nochtli wondered if Luthiel would be able to step away before she provoked the Sisters a step too far.

“Then I fail to understand the issue, Sister.” Centehua’s words jolted Nochtli back to reality. “I am willing to hear any advice you might have, especially in times such as these, but only if you actually have something to say. Otherwise, I am forced to assume that this is merely your nerves getting the better of you. But that would be rather unbecoming of a Battle Sister, wouldn’t it?”

This was an accusation, and not a subtle one. It was, as it was meant to be, biting and wounding. No warrior of any kind, much less an ordained Battle Sister, appreciated being accused of cowardice. Nochtli’s first, visceral reaction was to be affronted, to wonder how dare anyone slander her so. It was the kind of reflexive emotion that could lead someone to say some very unwise things.

But then, Centehua wasn’t entirely wrong. Nochtli had forgotten herself, at least as far as her station was concerned. She had become absorbed by concerns that we either beyond her purview, counter to her faith, or both. In the past few days, she had done things and been in situations that she would have had no reason to expect ever experiencing. This had...unbalanced her. Left her unprepared to properly handle further developments. Events had moved so quickly that she hadn’t had time to fully consider this, but...she had not been herself. She had been confused, uncertain. She had not been behaving as a proper Battle Sister should. She could not continue, so conflicted.

“Of course not, Cannoness,” Nochtli said. She stood to attention, for emphasis. “I will not waver again.”

The only response Centehua gave was a vague grunt of acknowledgement. Even having spent her entire life in the Order, Nochtli wasn’t sure what this meant. It was unlikely to be a good thing, certainly.

But Centehua was already returning to the other sisters, decisively ending the conversation there. That this action happened to leave Nochtli stewing with her own thoughts was an added benefit.

“I concur with the Cannoness. If your mental state is unstable, the whole mission will be put at risk.”

This time, Nochtli jumped in surprise. Despite all his cumbersome bulk, Lytanus had managed to approach her undetected. The realization that there was suddenly a nine-foot tall giant clad in auramite and death behind oneself was hardly a comforting one. Even if the custodian had meant his presence to be reassuring, he would have failed. He loomed over Nochtli, staring down at her by necessity. As always, he wore his round helmet, and the glowing, red lenses gave him a judgemental-almost infernal-aspect.

And yet, it wasn’t even Nochtli at which that gaze was truly directed. That dubious honor was reserved for the sword upon her back. Karon’vein, The Shadow’s Reach-ancient, aeldari superweapon-was hard to miss. Even tied to her power armor with a length of old cloth, the blade stood out, some sensation below active perception playing on the minds of all around it. So close to the blade, Nochtli could feel its power, almost begging for release . Whatever else might be true, Nochtli was quite certain that she had no desire to be anywhere near the thing. And yet, it was now her mission to keep it safe at all costs. And yet, she was about to bring it into the relay station. It might be that all this would achieve was delivering Karon’vein straight to the enemy.

No wonder Lytanus was concerned.

“I understand the risks, my lord, but this must be done,” Nochtli said.

“Agreed. But, do you intend to rejoin your sisters for the length of this campaign? I cannot advise that course of action.”

“Didn’t you just say we needed to take out the relay station? What-”

“I do not mean this mission.” Lytanus held out one of his huge palms to silence Nochtli. “Participation in this assault is to the benefit of our true mission. That this aids the Sisters is a side, but welcome, benefit. Nothing more.”

“I am a Sister of the Order, my lord,” Nochtli protested. “Is it not my duty to fight alongside them, to stick with them, no matter what?”

“Indeed,” Lytanus said with a slight tilt of his head. “And if that is truly your wish, I will respect it, though of course I will still be required to protect you closely. Certainly, there is no shortage of enemies to fight on this world. However...I must advise you that the Order’s campaign has almost no chance of success. I do not mean to insult the capabilities or devotion of your Sisters, but this remnant is too little, and too undersupplied to win any lasting victory. Destroying this relay station will only temporarily hamper the enemy. Eventually, a large enough force of traitor PDF or drukhari will corner the sisters, and destroy them for good. When that happens, if you are with them, there will be nothing you can do to keep the sword out of enemy hands.”

As much as Nochlit wanted to argue, to defend the honor of her comrades, she could not. Lytans was right, as simple as that. She knew it. Likely all the other Sisters knew it, too.

“What do you want me to do, then?” she asked, resigned.

“I would ask you the same question, Sister Nochtli,” The custodian rumbled.

“What do you mean?” Nochtli raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “What is there besides protecting the sword?”

“I speak of the future,” Lytanus replied. “I wonder if you have truly given enough thought to your long-term plans on this world.”

“The Emperor teaches us not to make assumptions about His designs,” Nochtli huffed. She felt no shame about falling back on scripture. Lytanus should have known better than to lecture a Battle Sister. “It is not for us to determine His goals.”

“And yet, you have made quite a few decisions of your own,” Lytanus countered. He tilted his head towards the clumps of sisters. Instantly, a pit formed in Nochtli’s stomach. There could be no doubt what-who-he was indicating. Luthiel had finished her argument with Teicui, and had turned to simple, silent brooding apart from the others.

“I would know what your intentions are, regarding the aeldari.”

“Luthiel has helped me many times. Helped us. It hardly makes sense to just get rid of her.”

“No, it does not,” Lytanus said. Despite this agreement, his already deep voice dropped to dangerous levels. Nochtli suspected there was very much a right answer to whatever he was about to ask, and that she was expected to give it. “But you know as well as I that no xenos should ever be trusted fully. This one is no different. Even if you do not know what, yet, she has some hidden agenda. The aeldari only assist humanity when they need us to protect their dying empire. In the end, they always abandon us. I am certain you know this. And yet, you seem to place an inordinate degree of trust in this aeldari. Why?”

“Because Luthiel has demonstrated herself worthy of trust.” Though she knew full well it would not be productive, Nochtli found herself becoming defensive on reflex. “And what does this have to do with the future?”

“Everything,” Lytanus replied, unfazed. “I would not see you become unduly...influenced by this aeldari. They are a shrewd, deceptive breed. No good can come of associating with them beyond necessity. If you are not careful, they will twist you entirely to their designs without you even noticing.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not suddenly going to renounce my vows and turn heretic,” Nochtli snorted.

“Perhaps. But what will you do, then? Will you simply part ways with the aeldari, when this is all said and done? Will you abandon her to whatever fate may hold?”

This, of all things, was what finally left Nochtli at a loss. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to answer this nor, worse, how she wanted to answer it. Only then did she realize that this question had been lingering in the back of her mind her entire time on Alken III, but she had ignored it. Actively or otherwise, it didn’t matter. She had avoided dealing with this truth. Lytanus was completely correct, and his words were appropriately blunt, but he hadn’t said anything that Nochtli hadn’t already known one way or another.

Every tenet of Imperial faith, policy, and strategy demanded that Luthiel be disposed of at the first opportunity. Even this was the most lenient interpretation of those philosophies. Nochtli had already stretched many of these laws to their absolute limits, if not outright broken them.

The question ate at her, swiftly and insidiously. It demanded an answer. Had demanded an answer for a long time, and every second that Nochtli didn’t provide it was another second that weighed on her soul, condemning her actions. The Imperial Faith was quite clear that inaction was the next best thing to heresy.

And yet Nochtli didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Nothing that came to mind, the obvious and the reasonable, sat right in her mind. She scowled deeply, gaze falling to the ground in shame and indecision. This, it seemed, was all Lytanus needed to prove what he had already believed.

“You can hardly keep the aeldari around and stay with the Order,” he said with grave finality. “The two simply cannot coexist. Either you return to the Order and your duties as a loyal warrior of The Imperium, or you stay with the aeldari and commit what your sisters will see as an unforgivable sin. There are no other options, and neither can be taken without resolve. Approaching your goals without decisiveness will only mean that you will fail to achieve any of them. And in this case, that means that the sword will fall into enemy hands, and Terra will be endangered. This cannot be allowed.”

Lytanus let these words hang in the air, allowing their weight and terror to fall over Nochtli and seep into every loose crack of her psyche. Only after a few moments of this did he add:

“You can see why I might be concerned.”

“I will not fail The Emperor, my lord. I am going to do everything I can to protect this sword and destroy the drukhari.” Nochtli knew she had to respond immediately. To do otherwise would be tantamount to confessing to every fault the custodian had just implied.

“I should hope so,” he said. “But I am not interested in promises, or assertions of faith, Sister Nochtli. Only action. While I am sworn to protect you, that is only so that you may in turn protect Terra. If I believe that allowing you to continue unrestricted will endanger that goal, then I will take whatever actions I deem necessary to ensure the success of the mission.”

This threat hit Nochtli hard, as it was no doubt intended to. She was coming to realize that despite all of Lytanus’s promises, declarations, and aid, the custodian did not see her as some saint with a grand destiny. No, in his eyes she was nothing more than a weapon to be used against the enemies of mankind. A weapon that required a bit more maintenance and cajoling than others, perhaps, but a weapon nonetheless. In that moment, Nochtli realized exactly what she was to Lytanus and, since he was an avatar of The Emperor, The Imperium at large.

“Now ready yourself, Sister. The attack will begin soon.”

...

The control centers of Imperial relay stations were quite large, some big enough to rival the command bridges of battleships, or the worship halls of capital city cathedrums. Despite their size, though, very little of these control centers was actually open space. Most of it was given over to the vast cogitator banks, transmitters, and receivers that were necessary to process and manage the enormous amount of information that went through the relay station on a daily, even hourly, basis. This was not to say that such relay stations had small crews. Indeed, the control center alone could have ten, if not many more, people to carry out the complex, unceasing work. This was in addition to the servitors that tended to computational and mechanical needs, and the overseers that ensured that the Imperium’s intelligence continued to flow without interruption. All of these bodies were crammed into a space that hardly left them enough room to move from their assigned stations. This was not seen as a matter of much concern, though. All the Imperium demanded was that its servants do their jobs, nothing more. If there was no ability to be distracted from those jobs, or to easily avoid it, then so much the better.

The relay station in the capital city of Alken III followed the mold completely. It had never been the largest example of its kind, and its normal crew had been much reduced by the predations of the drukhari, but the space inside the control center remained quite cramped and inhospitable. Many of the stations were empty, yes, but that hardly mattered much to the operators that remained. Even supposedly empty floor space still overflowed with nests of wires and machinery, after all. Besides, with all of the remaining staff well under the effects of Vesh’sai’s concoction, there was little desire to move about. The operators did as they had always done, now with single-minded, insensate focus, for their new masters had even less regard for their comfort.

The work continued.

Within the control center, a servitor hard-wired to a receiver bank droned the receipt of a report from a valkyrie patrolling the south-western octant of the city. The valkyrie had found no sign of their targets. From a slot embedded in its chest, the servitor printed a strip of parchment with this information. On cue, a nearby operator stood up from his chair, and walked over to the servitor to retrieve the strip. He would then transcribe it onto a dataslate that contained the rest of the hourly reports from that octant. That dataslate would then be added to a pile with those from the other octants, and then the whole pile would be sent to another station for processing, and eventual transmission back to Planetary Defense Force command.

The path from the operator’s station to the servitor was treacherous, a thin corridor of cables and cogitator banks. The operator’s family had worked in the relay station for generations; before the drukhari, he had been quite adept in navigating the passage promptly and mostly safely. Under the min-numbing effects of Vesh’sai’s concoction, he took the path as quickly as possible, heedless of the many scrapes and bruises he incurred along the way. Across the room, a servitor loudly noted a 13.0574 percent drop in upload efficiency, and suggested that this was due to critical damage inflicted on a generatorum elsewhere in the building. The operator paid this announcement no mid. It was not his role to pay mind to such things. His only purpose, his only thought, was to retrieve the parchment strip that still dangled out of the slot on the servitor.

It was at this precise moment that half a dozen Battle Sisters burst into the control center, bolters blazing.

The control center, as were all of its kind, was terribly cramped. There was nowhere for anyone to go. The flurry of mass-reactive shells ended things swiftly and decisively.

“Secure the room,” Centehua barked. “Shut down as much of this as you can. I want all the enemy’s communications silenced immediately.”

The other five sisters, and those behind them, hastened to comply. For the next couple minutes, the room was taken over by a buzz of activity, as sisters raced about, searching for surviving enemies and anything critical. Soon, one sister found the master cut-off switch. There was a burst of bolt-fire, and then a tremendous, echoing drone as every piece of machinery in the room shut down. A victorious cheer went up from the sisters.

“I believe you have all earned some rest,” Centehua said. “Tend to the wounded, and claim what supplies you can from this place. And praise Him for this triumph!”

The others eagerly took up this call.

Nochtli should have done so, as well. As far far as she ought to have been concerned, there was no reason not to join in. But she was too distracted. Too concerned.

The assault on the relay station had gone well-very well, in fact. The sisters had fallen upon the meager defenses with holy force. The few multi-laser and heavy stubber turrets that dotted the tower turned to meet them, but the paltry defiance they put out was nothing in the face of the sisters’ training and zeal. Hardpoints were swiftly slagged by melta beams, and the remaining fire arcs were easily avoided. Some PDF troopers rushed out to meet the attackers, but these were hardly the best, the reserves for the reserves. All fell in good order to merciless bolt rounds. Once the sisters got inside, their progress became unstoppable. The defenders simply couldn’t put together resistance meaningful enough to slow, or even threaten to slow, them. All their objectives were achieved quickly, easily, and without casualties.

And yet none of it sat right with Nochtli. She couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason. There was the idea that the relay station had been too easy to overcome, that it was suspiciously unguarded. But even then, it was too easy to explain that away. The PDF were clearly not in full possession of their faculties. The drukhari, like all xenos, were too arrogant to believe that the sisters could fight back. But then, she could just as easily counter those points.

She also wondered why there had not been any sign of response for other PDF forces. Surely there had been enough time to raise an alarm. Why had no valkyries been patrolling nearby airspace? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was simply not right. 

She was driving herself crazy.

But then from the other end of the control center, not too far away, Canoness Centehua happened to lock eyes with Nochtli. Immediately, Nochtli took up the victorious exhortations of her sisters. Lytanus’s warning lurked fresh in her mind. There was no longer any room for doubt and second-guessing. Centehua already doubted her, that much was clear. She could not risk disappointing the cannoness any further.

But then, had there really been an appropriate number of soldiers in the relay station?

Nochtli shook her head clear. This was getting ridiculous.

“Hey, Nochtli, I really think we ought to get out of here now,” Luthiel said, abruptly appearing behind the seraphim. The aeldari’s arms were crossed tight over her chest, and her gaze shifted about nervously. She could not have looked unhappier to be where she was if she had tried. Nochtli supposed this wasn’t unreasonable. Luthiel was presently in a small room, surrounded by Battle Sisters, filled with proof of what those sisters did to their enemies. Nochtli sympathized, she really did. She absolutely did not want to see Luthiel hurt, and if the ranger was so deeply uncomfortable, then the only thing to do was to get out of there as soon as possible.

But then, Lytanus and Centehua had made it abundantly clear that she couldn’t just leave. Indeed, the custodian loomed in the back of the control center. His strength had not been necessary in the attack, and so he had opted to watch the sisters work. Or, more accurately, watch over Nochtli to ensure the sword on her back remained safe. Even now, Nocthli could feel the red lenses on her back, watchful. For better or for worse.

“Nochtli, the Canonness has new orders for you.” Without her noticing, Celestian Teicui had approached her. She bore a stren scowl with her news. “It seems like there’s a transmitter still functioning on one of the upper levels, and the Canonness needs someone with a jump pack to investigate, and shut it down. Take your pet xenos with you.”

Teicui practically spat these last words. The venom contained within may well have been tangible. It was not an attitude that invited disagreement.

“I guess you’re coming with me?” Nochtli said, sheepishly. Luthiel just rolled her eyes.

...

“We’re not safe here.”

These words were spoken simply, as a matter of plain fact. There was a slight tremble in Luthiel’s off-musical voice, making no secret of her fear.

Nochtli hadn’t missed the word she had used, either: ‘we’re.’ The reason Luthiel might be in danger here was obvious, but Nochtli wasn’t entirely sure what was putting her own life at risk.

“I won’t let the sisters hurt you, Luthiel,” she said. Nochtli dropped down from the balcony on which the transmitter controls were perched. Even the relatively small panel had still been too complex and byzantine for Nochtli to fully understand. Thankfully, whatever tech-priest had built the thing had failed to provide countermeasures for the repeated application of a ceramite-clad fist. In the end, it sparked and sputtered just as well as anything else. Her job done, Nochtli strode past Luthiel. If nothing else, she wanted to project confidence to someone.

“Do you really think you have much of a say in the matter?” Luthiel asked. The ranger lost no time in keeping pace.

“What? Of course I do.” Nochtli brushed the thought away with a flick of her wrist. “They’re my Sisters. They’ll listen to me.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Nochtli stopped in her tracks. Of all the things Luthiel could have said, of all the brutally honest arguments she could have made, this one had somehow remained unexpected. The very thought was inconceivable. Unacceptable. Nochtli spun around, ready to ask how dare Luthiel question the bonds of her lifelong sisterhood. But Luthiel didn’t give her a chance.

“Nochtli, do you see yourself right now? You’re talking about your life with an alien. Not even fighting. Just talking. I don’t know what crime or sin or whatever you’re so scared of committing by being around me, but you’ve already done it. You can’t undo all the time you’ve spent with me, certainly not in the eyes of the Sisters. Did you see how that one who sent us up here was looking at us? Did you really think that was just for me? Nochtli, they don’t trust you.”

“And how could you possibly know that?” Nochtli demanded. She felt reflexive anger babbling up within her. All her training and indoctrination required that she not allow this grave insult to go unanswered.

“Well if it was someone else, would you trust them?”

Nochtli staggered, as if physically struck. Luthiel was inarguably correct. There was no way, if she had not just spent the last span of time in extremely close contact with Luthiel, that she would be able to accept any sort of association with the xenos.

“But...but surely that doesn’t put me in danger, does it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Luthiel sighed. “How does your Order usually deal with people they don’t trust?”

Nochtli didn’t bother responding. There was no point. They both knew what the answer was.

“What’s the point, then?” Nochtli asked. She was growing increasingly frustrated with all the people asking vague things of her. “What do you want me to do?”

“To make a choice, Nochtli. Me, or the Order. Can’t be both, and you’re going to have to decide real soon.”

This question hung in the air for a good few seconds, as if the words themselves were expecting a response immediately.

Then the sound of an explosion shook the foundations of the relay station. The attention of both women snapped down to the lower levels from where the sound had come. 

“We need to see what that was,” Nochtli said. Luthiel gave a short nod, already focused. Nochtli didn’t see it. She was already running at full tilt towards the disturbance.

And the worst of it was, she wasn’t even sure if she should be. Perhaps Luthiel was right. Maybe she should just be getting away from there as quickly as possible, to keep the sword safe. This did seem reasonable, in a way. At no point did her legs so much as slow down. Perhaps there was a twinge in the other direction, but it was swiftly brought under control by an impulse below consciousness. Nochtli didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to admit she wasn’t certain. She had to be certain.

“Nochtli, above you!” The cry of warning pierced Nochtli’s awareness, bringing her to readiness instantly. But the volume at which Luthiel had shouted could only mean that she knew it was too late.

Nochtli looked up. The ceiling of this part of the relay station was high and arched, the beams dotted with grim, cherubic statues that loomed over the hall. But not all of the statues were, in fact, statues. In the shadowed corners, figures lurked, perching on support beams and crenellations. Nominally, they were drukhari. They were roughly humanoid, and wore the same viscously spiked, dark green armor. But they were twisted things, warped by unnatural sciences. Each of the three of them had rough, leathery wings that sprouted naturally from their backs. Their sabatons were taloned, and Nochtli did not think that was just for show. Clawed hands held short rifles. Their beaked helms made them look like birds of prey, if said birds had been filtered through the worst nightmares imaginable. All watched Nochtli with the focus of hunters. And then, as one, they dived.

Nochtli’s pistols were out and firing in an instant. She was far too slow. Bolt rounds blasted apart beams and statues and sent an impressive rain of stone shards down upon the hall, but the drukhari easily twisted out of the way of the few vaguely precise shots. Nochtli had only a split second to react. Crystalline projectiles were already starting to smash into the ground and her power armor. All she could think to do was fall backwards. She dropped to the ground hard, barely managing to stay upright at all.

An instant later, one of the drukhari hit the ground in the exact spot where she had been standing, talons first. Stone cracked under the impact. Nochtli unleashed a barrage of bolt pistol fire, but disoriented as she was, almost all went wide. The couple that hit glanced off of the alien’s armor in a shower of sparks. Even so, the drukhari leapt away, out of the line of fire. Nochtli allowed herself an instant to believe that she might have a second of space to recover.

This hope was suddenly and decisively dashed when another drukhari swept in and plucked Nochtli right off the floor with their feet. Before she could fully process what had just happened, she was being dragged through the aid, barely inches above the floor, bumping and jotting against the stone. There was a terrible shriek of tortured metal, right next to her ears, so sharp that she felt the sound more than heard it. The drukhari’s talons were scraping against her armor, trying to find purchase through the ceramite. She had no doubt they would, eventually. But she wouldn’t have to wait that long. Above her, the drukhari was struggling against the weight of its burden to line up its rifle with her head. At that range, it would be impossible to miss.

Nochtli snapped up a pistol to try and get a desperate shot in. Except, she hadn’t raised a pistol at all. With a flash of undiluted horror, she realized that at some point, the shock and impact of it all had caused her to drop both her pistols. She was defenseless. Physical struggling alone was not going to break her captor’s grip.

Some part of her mind, low and unthinking, reminded her that she had one more weapon. She didn’t have time to decide. She managed to reach a hand over her shoulder, around the drukhari’s leg. After a moment of desperate grasping and fumbling, her hand latched around the hilt of Karon’vein. She pulled as hard as she could. The aeldari blade sliced through the cloth holding it to her back, and then arced cleanly through the drukhari’s leg. It passed through both materials with the same total lack of resistance.

The drukahri had already been having difficulty holding Nochtli at all aloft. With the sudden loss of its leg, the matter was sealed. The seraphim fell from its grip, tumbling painfully a good few feet across the hallway. Nochtli would be feeling the results of that tumble for a good while after, but she had it better than the drukhari: unable to control its flight, the alien had smashed into a wall, and was now fighting against pain, blood loss, and gravity to stay upright. Nochtli wasn’t going to give it the chance. With a wild yell she charged forward, and with both hands slammed the blade of Karon’vein into the drukhari’s chest, all the way to the hilt. The alien went limp.

Adrenaline still surged through Nochtli’s veins. Her armor’s auto-medicators and system-monitors held off the worst of it but the woman’s senses still pounded against her awareness, demanding she find another threat to deal with. After a few ragged breaths, she half-stumbled back, pulling the blade out with a sharp noise. In fairness to her senses, it wasn’t very hard to find more danger. The unmistakable rumble of a battle was now evident below her. Bolter fire and other things tried to make their voices heard over one another. It was hard to make out much in any detail through the layers of ferrocrete and metal, but it sounded quite desperate. On the other hand, there was a much closer sound, back down the hallway the drukhari had dragged her along: The off-tempo chatter of drukhari rifles echoed off the cavernous walls and ceiling. Against it, far too quiet and infrequent, were single blasts of Luthiel’s rifle.

Naturally, Nochtli could only respond to one, and abandon either Luthiel or her sisters to Emperor knew what fate. She wanted to think that it was a difficult choice, one that she would have to agonize over for a long time, even after she made it. But by the time this even occurred to Nochtli, she was already running back towards Luthiel.

She only made it a few steps before the wall in front of her exploded inwards with a flash of black light. The noise-more of a strange, low hum than a blast-the force and the flying rubble slammed Nochtli into the ground. She felt every bit of air driven from her by a clap of pain. The whole world buzzed.

When Nochtli finally had the sense of self to try and stagger to her feet, it felt as if the signals were being sent to her limbs from somewhere entirely unrelated to her brain. Before long, though, her vision focused. She wished it hadn’t.

There was a new hole in the wall, a gaping scar exposing the innards of the relay station to the outside. In the place of what used to be a solid, ferrocrete surface was a vehicle unlike anything Nochtli had ever seen. It looked like a flying blade. A broad body tapered off into a wicked point, and behind the sloped cockpit’s canopy was an open topped platform. Atop this stood a larger version of the rifles all the other drukhari carried. A kabalite stood at the very front of the platform, operating the gun. Underneath the vehicle was a much more esoteric weapon, something akin to a needle with a flowerbud for a point, crackling and snapping with dark energy. The vehicle was finished by two pairs of arced fins on either side that Nochtli had no doubt could do some damage of their own. The whole thing hovered on engines that spat corsucating flames. 

The vehicle’s appearance wasn’t even the most concerning thing, though. For there was a figure crouched on the hull, their only support a thin railing on the rear platform. As the craft gently hovered into place just outside the hole, the figure leapt off, landing flawlessly in the hallway. Nochtli’s heart went cold. Before her, mere yards away, was a skull-helmed incubi. Despite the drukahir’s relatively small stature, all of his armor’s spikes, vanes, and horns seemed to fill the space utterly. He pulled a flat blade, almost as tall as he was, from his back. All this was done in total, composed silence. There would be no escape. Then the incubus stepped forward.

Nochtli had seen Luthiel move quickly, when the ranger wanted to. In those times Luthiel could become little more than a shadowy wraith, easily outpacing even the fastest, most nimble humans. What the Incubus did next made Luthiel seem like a particularly clumsy grox. The drukhari blurred forward. He was on top of Nochtli before her brain had fully processed that he had moved at all. There was a particular blur, metallic and very big, moving very quickly straight at her head.

Only pure instinct, if it could even be called that, saved Nochtli. She threw her arms up, only partially with the intention of blocking the attack. In comparison to the Incubi’s huge blade, Karon’vein’s thin blade looked flimsy, and altogether insubstantial. Almost adorable. And yet when it met the drukhari weapon, there was a high-pitched ring of metal against...something. Impact rolled down Nochtli’s arms, only just compensated for by power armor servos. But Karon’vein held. Against it, that huge slab of metal could exert a great deal of force, but nothing more. Indeed, it was quite clear that the thing that would give out first was Nochtli’s arms, not the aeldari sword.

Nochtli shoved the drukhari away with all her servo-assisted strength. The Incubus let it happen, moving with the momentum with perfect control. All Nochtli had done was assist her opponent in getting back to a better stance. With a shout she threw herself forwards, swordpoint-first. But with how the xenos could move, this was nothing more than feeble flailing. It simply twisted out of the way, long before the sword was anywhere close.

There was a smaller, secondary grip halfway up the incubus’s own weapon. Using it, he brought the blade down in a savage chop. By his standards, it was a deliberate, telegraphed action. It was all Nochtli could do to manage to block just in time. This time, the impact sent her reeling, dazing both mind and body. It was a truly heroic effort to organize her senses enough to launch a counter-attack. Too late. The incubus’s blade flashed. Nochtli just leapt backwards, away. The drukhari moved forward steadily, keeping pace every step of the way.

As more and more attacks lashed out, each only just deflected or survived, hatred and humiliation filled Nochtli’s awareness. She was no duelist, but she had no doubt that if the incubus wanted to, he could simply cut her down in a single, brutal instant. The alien was toying with her. Behind that expressionless, skull-like helm the drukhari was totally silent, but Nochtli could feel its sadistic glee. This was not a fight, not even close. It was merely a predator deciding how to best enjoy its prey. 

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Then the hallway erupted with noise. Bolt shell after bolt shell roared by on little trails of flame. One after another, they slammed into the incubus, the force of impact alone slamming him backwards one step at a time. The drukhari’s armor was evidently better made than those of its fellows, for the plate managed to turn aside many of the shots. But not all of them. Not enough. Bolt shells were mass-reactive weapons, designed to to penetrate their target, and only then explode. The results were...dramatic.

Even as these events played out, Teicui strode past Nochtli, firing all the way and bellowing oaths to The Emperor. By the time she reached the incubus, the xenos was nothing more than a corpse, and not much of one at that. Even so, Teicui fired two more shots, point blank.

The celestian did not linger on her victory, however. With barely a pause, she turned and stomped back towards Nochtli, and extended a hand. Only then did the seraphim realize that, at some point, she had fallen to the ground. She accepted the gesture, and Teicui pulled her up feet hard. There was no camaraderie or kindness in the act.

“What happened?” Nochtli aked. It was a foolish question, but Nochtli was too disoriented not to ask.

“The drukhari attacked. We are fighting them,” Teicui responded, giving the question the respect it deserved. “And you are going to return. Now.”

“But-” Nochtli wasn’t sure what she was protesting, exactly, but she was certainly doing so. Teicui didn’t give her the chance.

“No, no excuses,” the older Sister snarled. Teicui was only a few years older than Nochtli, but the gulf of experience between the two women had wrought severity and a general distaste for all others into her dark skin. Much of her pale hair had been lost to trauma, and the rest shaved down. Celestian Teicui was not a kind woman, and was certainly used to having her commands followed, in the Order. But then, the way she saw it, she had only the best interests of the Order and the Imperium in mind, so obedience was both required and reasonable. “And you don’t get a say in the matter. The only reason you are still here is because that sword must be protected, and the Cannoness has decreed you must be the one to do it. If I had my way, you would be cast out and left for the xenos.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing to harm the Order,” Nochtli demanded.

“You’ve forgotten yourself, Sister,” Teicui spat. Evidently, she decided there was no time for this, for she grabbed Nochtli by the wrist, and began to pull down the way she had come. The celestian wasn’t much stronger than Nochtli, but the seraphim was unprepared. She could only stumble along, at least at first. “You have allowed yourself to be taken in by that...xenos. Become distracted. Whatever your goals are now, they can’t be trusted. The others think so, too. You don’t have as many friends as you-”

Teicui never got to finish her sentence, for at that moment a thin beam of pure darkness punched a hole a good inch-and-a-half wide through her chest. Teicui staggered hard. It was the kind of wound that meant she was already dead, but her body hadn’t quite caught up to that fact yet.

Both Sisters spun to see Kepesh Nul standing in the middle of the hallway, flanked by two kabalites, and with Vesh’sai lurking behind him. In one hand, he casually held a large, flat-nosed pistol.

Teicui had no time left. Without hesitation, she lunged forward.

“In the name of The God-Emperor of Mankind, I will cleanse you from the galaxy, xenos abomination! You will not place a single foot on Holy Terra!”

Teicui’s every word was impossibly tortured, spoken through pain Nochtli could not begin to imagine. The celestian let out a single, blood-flecked yell. She tore a krak grenade from her belt and hurled it right at Kepesh Nul. As it flew, Teicui let loose with everything that remained in her bolter’s magazine. All of these projectiles were as precisely aimed as they could be, given the circumstances. The grenade burst with a percussive krak against the archon’s armor, swiftly followed by the repetitive hammering of the bolt shells. The hallway filled with fire and the stink of burning things.

But only for a moment. Just as soon as the explosions came, all the fire and metal was sucked away in a flash of black, like none of it was ever there. All that fury counted for nothing swallowed by a vortex of nothing. Kepesh Nul just stood there, utterly unharmed.

And then Teicui’s body caught up with reality, and the celestian dropped to the floor, lifeless.

“Well, that was a bit silly,” Kepesh Nul said. He mostly sounded bemused. Then the archon looked up, straight at Nochtli. A predatory grin spread across his face.

“Now, I think we have some things to talk about.”


End file.
